Chasing Demons
by Crux01
Summary: Sequel to previous Work 'One Last Time' and begins about nine months after the end of that one...
1. Trouble in Paradise

Sequel to previous Work 'One Last Time' and begins about nine months after the end of that one...

**Chasing Demons**

**Trouble in Paradise**

"I reiterate my offer, Carrie, any job that you want, you only have to ask and it's yours." He stared at her, eyes shining with something that could possibly be hope, imploring her to remember what they once meant to each other.

Carrie ignored the almost overwhelming urge to spit in his face, tampered down her anger, looked him square in the eye and said simply "Why?"

Saul Berensen sighed, a very long and eloquent sound. "Jesus, you know why, Carrie," he began. "But if you want me to spell it out I will. I miss you, Carrie. I miss working with you. It's been a fucking awful year and we have lost a lot of very good people. I need to make it better and I need you to help me."

Carrie said nothing, just shook her head slowly.

"I know you weren't happy with the way things turned out with Haqqani," Saul continued, suddenly appearing desperate to fill the silence. "I've given you time to come to terms with it and now I need you back."

"As easy as that?" Carrie worked at keeping her voice emotionless; it was a hard fight.

Saul nodded. "As easy as we can make it," he said voice grating with sincerity.

Carrie gulped, looked away, outside to where the bright spring sunshine warmed and nurtured a different world away from all the sinister distrust and suspicion that lingered like a bad smell through the corridors of Langley.. She took a long, deep breath of the tainted air. "When I think of the times you fucked me over and I ended up thanking you for the opportunity. I put myself on the line so many times for you, Saul. I believed in you. I believed we were doing the right thing." She stood up, chair grating across the sleek floor. "Never again. Never a-fucking-gain!"

It was an impressive display of control that emphasised to Saul the message he had been hearing following his discreet digging around the CIA, the message which had prompted him to arrange this meeting: Carrie had her shit together. It made it even more essential that he get her back on board. He felt his palms sweat at the thought of how useful she would be. But how to get her back on side?

"European Desk Analyst keep you happy, Carrie? I don't think so!" He began again, slowly picking his arguments.

She snorted. "What would you know?" she spat back.

"I know you," he responded firmly, his eyes probing hers.

"No, you knew me, not any more. Like you said it's been a fucking awful year but some good has come from it and I won't go back." She shook her head. "Not to that place you took me to... Never! "

Saul snorted. "Never is a long time, Carrie, and we need you."

"Don't lay the guilt trip on me. I should have known you'd stoop this low." The control was slipping - damn it, how could he push her buttons so easily? Seeking to regain the initiative she ran her hand through her hair, turned away and muttered, "Quinn warned me."

"Oh he did, did he?" Saul's voice had a sudden dangerous edge. "And he knows all about following through on his promises."

She stared at him blankly and Saul knew he had her hooked now, had found the weakness he sought. Needing to concentrate, he pushed away the jealous pain that stung through him as he realised, that as he suspected, her weakness was Quinn.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" she asked finally turning back to him.

Carefully Saul shook his head, appearing to backtrack he said, "I've said too much but that's because I desperately need you, Carrie."

She moved forwards and placed her hands on his desk, her stance tense and confrontational. "What the fuck do you mean?" She pronounced each word slowly, eyes flashing angrily, boring in to him.

"You don't know?" Saul let a little more play on to the line, watching her minutely, as he prepared to reel her in.

"Know what?"

Just a little more. "I assumed he would have told you."

She was shivering now. Saul silently congratulated himself that he could still play her; Carrie Mathison may have got her shit together but in doing so she had opened herself up to further vulnerability and he would manipulate it for all he was worth. He would get what he wanted.

Her patience hanging by a thread, she gulped. "Told me what?"

Saul stood up, moved to the window, closed his eyes for a second as the warm sunshine bathed him, chasing away the dank winter cobwebs. He felt completely invincible at this moment and had to work hard at keeping the satisfaction from his voice, as he turned back to her to deliver his fatal blow. "Peter Quinn has a physical evaluation session arranged for tomorrow morning. He wants back into his black ops group."

"What?!" Carrie's voice was wrenched from her in equal parts of shock and disbelief. "You're fucking kidding me!"

Saul shook his head. "I wouldn't lie, not to you, Carrie. Not over something as important to you as this. He really hasn't told you?"

She collapsed back into her chair, her legs seemingly unwilling to hold her, running her hand through her hair nervously once more. Her face was crumpled, suddenly fragile. "He's not fit enough," she mumbled, "It's only nine months since..." She stopped and looked up at Saul, her eyes suddenly cold. "You bastard," she spat.

"Carrie." He moved towards her, hands outstretched but she pushed passed him.

"Don't fucking touch me!" The door banged as she threw it wide and rushed out, leaving only the tortured heat of her anger slowly dissipating through the room.

Saul sighed and sat down, resting his head on his hand, deep in thought; that had gone better than he had expected.

* * *

Panicked Carrie was desperate to get out of Langley, she felt it's claustrophobic confines would crush her at any minute. So she almost ran, head down and ignoring everything else, so much so that it took an arm on her shoulder, spinning her around, to stop her.

"What the...?" she muttered and found herself looking up into a handsome face, skin tanned, eyes brown and tidy black hair pronouncing that its owner was of Middle Eastern origin. She recognised the face, although had difficulty in her current mindset in coming up with a name. He stood, eyes twinkling in amusement, still holding her sleeve gently, as if waiting for her to catch up.

"Sam?" she began incredulously. "Samir Bakri?"

He nodded and rolled his eyes at that.

"I thought you were dead!"

"Carrie Mathison," he purred his voice with the attraction of the barest accent. "I don't recall you being so overly dramatic."

His smile was wide and so contagious that Carrie found herself matching it without wanting to, as she fought to regain her composure. "Well, fuck me!" she muttered.

The smile grew wider and he nodded, "I believe I did, on numerous occasions!" he beamed. "And very hot, it was too! Can I shout you a coffee for old time sake?"

Carrie was on the verge of declining, she really needed to speak to Quinn, but something in the twinkle of his eye sparked a memory of long ago nights in the stinking heat of Bagdad. "OK," she nodded. "But not here. I know a nice coffee shop a couple of blocks down."

After they had settled themselves down and ordered, Carrie took a long look at her companion. He was older true, but still gave off that comfortably confident air that she remembered, so much so that he seemed to positively enjoy being the subject of her somewhat intense appraising stare.

"Still like what you see, Mathison?" he asked smoothly.

She shook her head but smiled. "Haven't changed then, Sammy," she said.

"Why change perfection?"

She rolled her eyes. "Why indeed. So what are you doing here?"

"Cyber terrorism is where it's at," he responded. "I'm setting up a new team. You want in?"

"Me?" She shook her head. "I barely know how to turn my phone on!"

His smile faltered. "Self depreciation is not cool. When did you get to be so modest, Mathison?" He leaned forwards. "I don't remember that."

"Yeah well, life happened, Sam and all the shit it brings!"

He took hold of her hand, turned it around and gently circled his finger around her palm, tracing the life line. "Did I ever tell you my mother was a brilliant soothsayer, back in Palestine, when I was a little boy, she taught me all she knew and I see only long life and happiness here," he said, his accent suddenly stronger, and his eyes bright with humour.

Carrie snorted and pulled her hand away. "Yeah, well I hope you're better at cyber crime than you are palm reading then! No offence to you mother obviously."

He pouted apparently wounded. "I thought you would remember, I am good at everything. It wounds me that you have forgotten this absolute truth." Then he allowed his face to turn more serious. "So come on, Mathison, tell me what's happened to you in the last ten years. Has my crazy lady really become so sad?"

"Not sad just..." She stopped as the waitress delivered the coffee, and she glanced out of the window wistfully.

"Just?" Bakri prompted.

She smiled at him. "You first," she deflected.

He chuckled. "Married, children, divorced, single... Definitely in that order." he disclosed. "And now back in the good old USA, hot and ready for sex! You?" She smiled but said nothing, so he continued, "You got a partner?"

She frowned a little. "It's complicated," she said, stirring her coffee way too vigorously.

"Well it shouldn't be!" Bakri said. "It should be as easy as fuck and if it's not, it's not worth it! Didn't Baghdad teach you anything?"

"So how did you get out?" Carrie asked. "I made enquiries but nobody knew where you were. I guess I just assumed..."

Bakri shook his head. "Don't try to divert me with irrelevancies; sex is much more important than any of that. You obviously need cheering up. Come on, let's go, let me show you what is important in life, Carrie Mathison!"

At that point, Carrie's phone buzzed on the table. She glanced down, saw Quinn's number and felt her stomach clench. She considered ignoring it completely but then knew that she needed to talk to him. "Excuse me for a sec," she said, "I got to take this."

Bakri waved her away nonchalantly and she moved towards the back of the shop out of earshot.

"Hey."

Over the past nine months Carrie had become quite adept at deciphering Quinn's mental state by the way he greeted her over the phone. Most days it was light and positive but on a significant minority, when his demons had taken hold, the single word was said with such pure lifelessness that it made her soul weep. Today's tone was completely neutral, almost engineered to give nothing away.

"Hey," she responded, equally impartially.

"How did it go?"

"Interestingly," Carrie responded.

There was silence at the end of the phone and then Quinn said "You're not considering his offer are you?"

"I don't know what I'm doing right now," Carrie snapped. "We need to talk about it."

"Right." Quinn responded. "Tonight?"

Carrie hesitated. She glanced back at the table. Bakri smiled at her and blew her an extravagant kiss. "Maybe not tonight," she said. "I'm pretty strung out and I just want to go home and sleep now. It was pretty intense."

She sensed the surprise through Quinn's hasty and guarded, "OK." But then he rallied with "Do you want me to come round?"

"Tomorrow," she responded. "Early."

There was a further hesitation. "I can't," he said finally. "I got something on."

"Hospital appointment?" she asked. "You never said. I can take you."

"No," he responded too quickly. "I'll ring you when I'm free."

"Are you sure?" She pushed, as the alarm bells continued to jar through her head. "Sounds mysterious!"

"No it's really not," he responded sounding uncomfortable. "Hope you feel better soon."

"Yeah, so do I!" she answered and he was gone. She stood staring at her phone as if it would give her the answer she sought. Surely Saul could not have been telling the truth? Quinn wouldn't, couldn't, be contemplating a return to live action and if he was, he would have surely told her.

"Hey gorgeous, come back to me!" Bakri's pleading voice cut through her reverie.

She put away the phone and wearing her best smile she moved back to the table but Bakri wasn't fooled. "Trouble in paradise, Mathison?" he asked.

"Nothing that a night out with an old friend won't solve!" she retorted.

Bakri let out a victorious chuckle. "Come on then!"

"Just one minute," Carrie said. "Got to arrange a babysitter."

For the first time since she had met him that afternoon, Samir Bakri looked genuinely surprised. "Mathison a mother!?" he snorted. "Now that is a truly astonishing concept!"


	2. As Good as it Gets

**As Good as it Gets**

Peter Quinn walked stiffly across the parking lot at Langley as he returned to his truck. Once there he sat inside it silently. He was physically and mentally exhausted and he needed time to summon up the energy for the drive back. He had spent all morning going through a barrage of physical tests and then the afternoon being thoroughly debriefed on his performance. As he sat, trying to be completely still, his right hand trembled slightly as it did now regularly seemingly with a will of its own. He grabbed hold of the steering wheel tightly in order to stop it, forcing himself to breathe in and out slowly, leaning back into the seat, eyes closed, he waited for the crisis to pass. His need for stillness was almost overwhelming.

It was not to be fulfilled however, as the passenger door suddenly opened and Carrie climbed in, blowing in like a whirlwind as she banged the door shut with such vigour that the whole truck shook. She stared at him with furious eyes. "What the fuck are you doing here?" she demanded.

Quinn gulped back his surprise, tried to think of something to say but his overwrought mind failed to engage adequately to the task. His only thought was how the hell did she know he was here? He had been very careful to use the back entrance to the HR department and chosen the parking lot well away from her office and yet here she was. On a better day her timing would have made him suspect that she was aware he had been there all along and was waiting for him to return to the lot but this was not a good day.

Her eyes were still challenging him, demanding a response. "Were you ever going to tell me?" she pressed.

Slowly he let go of the steering wheel, thrusting his still shaking hand deep into his pocket, he gulped in as much air as he could and licked his lips, forcing his eyes to stare forwards out of the windshield and not look at her because he knew in his current state he was no match for Carrie in full-on antagonistic mode. He needed time to get himself together.

Time was the one thing that Carrie wasn't going to allow, not while her justifiable fury at his duplicity raged through her. "What the fuck, Quinn. Fucking talk to me!"

"It's not what you think," he managed weakly.

His pathetic defence only served to infuriate her more. "That's the best you can come up with! Don't you think you owed me the decency of at least being told what you were planning? What, does the last year mean nothing to you? You just going to get back on to the black ops wagon and disappear again. Leaving me again? The fuck! Quinn... Quinn?!" She stopped, staring at him with the all encompassing need for him to actually communicate with her flashing in her eyes that only a moron would miss.

But Quinn was still not making eye contact. He muttered finally. "I was trying to prove I was good enough."

"Good enough for what?" Carrie pressed and then, as realisation dawned on her, she shook her head sadly and opened the truck door. "You are a fucking idiot, Quinn," she said. "You have always been good enough for me. Too good in fact." She slid out of the vehicle, her voice cracking with anguish as she turned back to him. "This is just too fucking hard. If I don't fuck it up, you do. Whatever made us think we could get through it together? Just fucking stupid, stupid, stupid." She banged the door shut and was gone leaving only broken debris in her wake like a hurricane.

He sat in the truck for a long time and then, when the shuddering in his arm had lessened, he gunned the engine to slowly pull out of the parking lot and head home.

* * *

"You want a posting to the Cyber Terrorism team?" Saul raised his eyebrows. "That's not your area of expertise." He noted her somewhat windswept appearance, and the way her eyes flicked wildly around the room. It wasn't hard to see that something had upset her and he fancied that he knew exactly what that might be, his eyes flicked to the recently received folder on his desk.

"You said I could choose, well that's my choice." Carrie responded firmly.

"Steep learning curve though. Wouldn't have thought it plays to your particular strengths, Carrie. What changed your mind?"

"Let's just say I met an old friend and he opened up a new world of possibilities."

"Old friend?"

"Sammi Bakri."

Saul rolled his eyes. "He's a good guy, didn't know you knew him."

"Yes, you did, we were in Baghdad together."

"Really? " Saul shook his head, removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. "I must have forgotten. There's a lot going on and I'm getting too old for this shit! Anyway I'm glad you changed your mind. It means a lot to me."

Carrie stood up, grabbed her bag and, ignoring his outstretched hand, moved towards the door. He was unconcerned about her petulant snub, concentrating instead on preparing his next attack. She stopped, her shoulders tensing as he continued innocently, "I was sorry to hear about Quinn."

She turned back. "Hear what?"

"My god, don't you two ever communicate?" Saul managed to make his tone one of disbelief, as he fought to keep the satisfaction out of it on seeing Carrie's obvious consternation. Quinn was even worse at relationships than Saul had believed if he thought he could keep something like this from Carrie and not suffer any repercussions, and his failure was leading her directly down the path Saul wanted her to follow. Saul managed an almost fatherly tone as he continued, "He flunked the evaluation. I suppose it's only to be expected, after all his body has been through, it was a miracle that he even got to a level where he could be considered."

Carrie gulped. "Flunked." She shook her head. "I just assumed after all the work he's put into it he would pass. Still knowing him, he'll just try harder next time."

Saul shook his head. "No more chances. I've got the evaluation report," he nodded to a buff coloured file on his desk. "Being Director gives me some perks," He drew in a long breath before continuing, "The recommendation is that he not be considered in the future - he is never going to make it back to what he was and if he is continues to try he's going to fucking kill himself. Still from what I read, and the glowing reports from his physicians they didn't expect him to get this far and it's a credit to him that he did. He isn't going to get any further though; this is as good as it gets for him."

"So what is he going to do?" Carrie asked while the thought went around her head, how the hell had Saul got the report so quickly? She had only just left Quinn in the parking lot after all.

Saul snorted. "You're asking me? Damned if I know." His eyes narrowed. This was almost too easy. "Has he not told you any of this?" he asked innocently, twisting the knife a little more.

Carrie stiffened. "That's none of your fucking business! Now do I get the posting or not?"

Saul smiled but his eyes remained serious. "Of course you do," he responded. "I'll start making arrangements immediately."

* * *

Quinn's phone buzzed again. It had been going off periodically for the last few hours but he had been ignoring it. He glanced at the number. This time it wasn't Rob from the Team. This time it was Carrie.

He looked at the vibrating phone and sighed deeply, waiting for it to stop. He didn't want to talk to anybody. Didn't see the point. What was there to say to anyone but particularly to Carrie? Everything she had said to him in the truck had been correct; it was all just too fucking hard.

Beside the phone on the table in front of him was an unopened bottle of whiskey. He stared at it and wondered if he should reach across to open it. Many times in the past he had sought sanctuary in the oblivion the liquor offered but this time was different, this time he lacked the conviction for even that. There was no point.

So he simply sat.


	3. Like Humpty Dumpty

**Like Humpty Dumpty**

"Excuse me, are you Carrie Mathison?"

Carrie looked up from the mesmerising gibberish of the spreadsheet she had been lost in, her eyes taking a full second to adjust to the real world once more. A shortish, scruffy man with mousy hair, a matching untidy beard and an air of complete insignificance, stood awkwardly at the side of her desk.

"Yes I am, can I help you?" she responded too tersely but she was not in the mood for irrelevancies - this computer shit was trying her patience to extremes.

"I hope so." His smile was polite and unmemorable but Carrie caught something in the glint of his eye, something hard and intense, which seemed far more important than the rest of this guy put together, something that belied his nondescript air and grabbed her curiosity. "Can we go somewhere a little more private please?" he responded, glancing around the office at the rest of the team. Although they appeared engrossed in their work, Carrie could just sense their curious ears straining for any juicy gossip.

"OK," she stood and moved toward the conference room.

"Outside maybe?" he asked. "Call me paranoid but I don't trust these office types, more difficult to keep a secret from them than from the fucking enemy. No offence intended."

Carrie raised her eyebrows. "None taken, Mr?"

"Rob, just call me Rob," he replied, turning to leave the office.

As they passed Bakri, Sammi sniffed disrespectfully and said snidely so only they could hear. "Watch yourself Mathison, you don't know where these black ops guys have been. And you can be sure they will have caught something nasty while they were there!"

Rob turned slightly. "The most unpleasant thing I ever caught was you, so fuck off, asshole!" he hissed over his shoulder.

"Whatever, macho man!" Bakri purred back, batting his eyelids flippantly.

Carrie rolled her eyes. "What was that all about?" she asked as they exited into the daylight. It was another fine spring day, with the sun bright in a crystal clear blue sky. The trace of flower pollen wafted on the gentle breeze mixing with the fumes from the nearby parking lot. Carrie accepted the cigarette Rob offered, bending her head to light it and taking a long drag before blowing smoke out to add to the cacophony of scents.

"Smoke free office shit!" Rob muttered before continuing, "Apologies. I've known that jerk for some time, we came across each other on a mission. A couple of good guys died to save his sad ass and the only thanks we get is he continually makes cheap comments. Ever think your efforts are not worth what they cost?" Carrie nodded as Rob continued, "Which brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about." He hesitated and looked around them, still concerned that they were not alone.

"Are you always this jumpy? There's nobody in listening distance and I swear I haven't got a wire, so please go on," Carrie prompted being as polite as she could muster.

"Sorry, it's comes with the job. Anyway I think we have a mutual friend, and I mean 'friend' in the widest possible sense of the word, the guy's a stubborn, uncommunicative, volatile, tight-lipped douchebag."

"Quinn?" Carrie speculated, rolling her eyes at the appropriateness of the description.

Rob smiled cheerily. "Got it in one."

"Isn't he just!" Carrie agreed. "So?"

"I wouldn't want you to think that I do this all the time, I mean I normally let my guys sort out their own shit or we do it together, don't involve anybody else but on this occasion I don't seem to be getting very far. And I will do whatever it damn well takes to sort this - Peter deserves better!" He snorted. "You know he failed the physical, right?" Carrie nodded. "Shit man, he was so close and when you think what he's been through, he was just fucking awesome, fitter than most, but he won't see it that way. To him a failure is a fucking failure and he'll be beating himself up about it mercilessly." He stopped again. "Fuck, where am I going with this fucking apple pie and motherhood back story? You know all this right? I've said more words to you than I normally do in a whole day! The fact is that I've got an offer for him, something which might be enough to keep him near the team but not on active missions, enough to keep him grounded for a while at least until he gets his shit together permanently."

"And you're telling me because?"

"I've been ringing the fuck off his phone but got no answer. I swear he'll be holed up somewhere with sixteen bottles of whiskey getting himself shitfaced, cos we've all been there. But he doesn't need to, not at least until he hears me out." He stopped, blew a smoke ring and grunted. "Shit, what a load of squishy bullshit I just spouted! Feel like I must have eaten a fucking dictionary for breakfast!" He finished, shaking his head slowly at his own verbosity but eyes wide and imploring nonetheless.

Carrie sighed. "I wish I could help but..."

Rob raised his hands impatiently as he cut in. "No, don't give me that 'but' bullshit, that's not going to help anyone. I know it's tough for you lot being at home, I reckon it takes a harder, stronger heart to watch someone march off to war and carry on with a normal life than it ever does to do the marching. We get the adrenaline rush, you get only to pick up the broken pieces and somehow put us back together again like fucking Humpty Dumpty." He hesitated. "The last mission I did with Quinn, that Syria one, he left you the letter." Again he stopped to emphasise the importance of his words, breathing out a mouthful of smoke. "I worked with him for twelve years, in all that time you are the only one he ever sent the letter to and that means something fucking important to us guys. Don't cave on him now. I know he's probably given you a shitload of pain but..." He stopped finally running out of words.

Carrie hesitated. Quinn had never been far from her thoughts since she had stormed out of his truck. She was still angry with him but she was beginning to regret the way she had verbally attacked him and never really given him the benefit of the doubt. She remembered how pasty and shattered he had looked, so alone sitting there in his big truck. She was beginning to think that she had not been altogether fair to him, that when he had really needed someone she hadn't been there. She also knew what Rob said would be true, Quinn would be devastated at failing the assessment.

Over the previous nine months, what there was between them had changed and not for the better, the fragile flicker of love had struggled to grow into a greater flame, being overtaken by too many other things. Too much had come between them, Carrie had intentionally taken a step back, when his condition had improved, to spend much needed time with Franny. Quinn's physical state and then his single minded commitment to getting back to fitness had seen him unable to concentrate on anything else. She had supported him as best she could and as much as he appeared to need but there had been no time or apparent inclination for further sexual intimacy bar of few quick hugs and pecks on the cheek. Their only consummated act remained the aggressive fuck following his return from Syria which had been completely unsatisfying for them both. Remembering what Quinn had said in his truck she was beginning to wonder if he had purposely distanced himself because he felt he was somehow not good enough for her. She shook her head sadly at such an insane thought.

Carrie had always imagined that it was only a matter of time that eventually, when he was fit enough, he would come to her and they would make good love. Carrying this belief deep inside she had done something she had never done before for a lover; she had pushed her impetuosity away and waited for him.

However, since this latest turn of events, the argument it had lead to, and Quinn going as dark as he ever had on any mission, she had begun to question once again whether they were really right for each other. The return of an old flame in Sammi Bakri, had also caused her to re-evaluate the situation.

Now Carrie saw that it had taken the intervention of this candid but surprisingly caring black ops guy for her to understand that whatever the final outcome was going to be, she really needed to talk to Quinn for both their sakes.

"I understand," she said. "So tell me about your proposal, Rob."

Bakri regarded her critically when she returned the office. "I was just about to send out a search party," he began, "Or at least dock your wages for unauthorised absence."

"You're all heart, Sammi," she shot back.

"In my experience you can't be too careful around black ops guys. What did he want anyway?"

"None of your business."

"Was it about Peter Quinn by any chance?"

Carrie had been about to push passed him but she stopped, her eyebrows rising. "Who?"

Bakri let out a chuckle. "Carrie Mathison playing the innocent, I don't think so. You two have been the talk of Langley for months after what happened with Dar Adal. They're even running a book in HR, as to when he's going to walk you down the aisle and when you're going to produce a little black ops operative. When one of his mates from the dark side turns up it has to be about him. I guess he's the complication you mentioned the other night." He shook his head sadly. "You can do a lot better Mathison. There's me for a start!"

"You know nothing, Sammi, so just shut the fuck up!"

His face creased with mock anguish at that. "Touchy subject eh? Don't tell me you're gonna blow me out tonight because of him."

Carrie' s stare was cold and hard. "As a matter of fact that is exactly what I am going to do."

"You wound me, Mathison, a knife to my heart, how can you be so cruel?" His tone was playful but Carrie saw something far less benign flash in his eyes.

"I'm sure you'll cope. I bet there are hundreds of other ladies eager to take my place."

He nodded. "Thousands I expect but this isn't over Carrie, I won't give you up, not to the dark side so easily."

She snorted. "Go play with your light sabre, Sammi!" She made to move away but he reached out a hand to stop her, all of his feigned lightness of seconds before vanishing into seriousness. "You finished that spreadsheet for me yet?" he asked.

She shook him off. "Almost."

When she got back to her desk she sent a text. it read, "Max, fucking hurry up with it, I need to give it to Bakri!"


	4. The Demons that Come at Night

**The Demons that Come at Night**

It was dark by the time Carrie stood, hesitating at Quinn's door. She had a set of keys that he had given her awhile back and she had used on occasion but she had not brought them with her and instinct told her it was important now that he let her in. She knocked on the door. She did so lightly at first but with growing impatient intensity as it appeared that no one was going to answer. As she became increasingly infuriated she ditched the idea of gaining his tacit approval, and began to seriously consider trying to break down the door. Although, swirling around the maelstrom in her head was the thought that she was more likely to break her shoulder than make any impact on the substantial door structure, after all Quinn wasn't the type to live behind a door that was easily opened. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw a dark shadow of movement through the glass.

She waited impatiently, intoning "C'mon Quinn!" under her breath.

Finally the door opened and he stood in front of her. She had expected he would be a mess, would be drunk, maybe even paralytic, only just managing to open the door and she was ready to grab him as he lurched forward. She had not expected what she saw. He stood straight and tall, frighteningly sober, he was even smiling at her but that was the most terrifying thing of all, for his smile was the death mask of a corpse - completely lacking life.

This was a different and new Peter Quinn: Not the cold eyed, committed assassin she had seen in Islamabad nor the gentle but desperate man searching for a normal life who had kissed her so longingly on the dreamy night of her father's funeral. Not the depressed, reticent PTSD sufferer descending into a bottle who had nevertheless answered her call even when he knew he would suffer the consequences and certainly not the impressive, determined man she had seen fight back from his injuries through sheer strength of will over the last nine months. Everything that had made him into these acerbic, and in their own different ways, brave men seemed to be missing, every prickly virtue smoothed away so that only smooth fear remained.

Biting back her disquiet, she offered up the bottle of whiskey. "Peace offering," she said as lightly as she could. Silently he took it from her as she walked passed him into the room beyond. A dull, despondent atmosphere hung over the place like a dark rain cloud but she sensed more too, a swirling undercurrent of mind numbing terror. She forced herself to ignore it and instead went for mock merriment as she continued, "Thought you'd be in need of more supplies!" She stopped as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light in the room. There was a whiskey bottle on the table in front of her and at least five more on the kitchen top. None of them had been opened. "Maybe not." she muttered.

He moved passed her, his movements listless and robotic, placing the bottle with laboured care next to the first on the table and indicating she should sit. She did so and he sat on the chair opposite, although he only perched, remaining rigid and forebodingly brittle. She waited, watching him, trying to read what was before her, trying to make sense of the anxious desperation within the room, as her concern for him grew.

"So, you not drinking?" she asked finally. He shook his head slowly. "Mind if I do?" Again the bleak head shake, followed by an almost undetectable shrug. She reached forward to open the first bottle before standing up to wonder through to the kitchen in search of glasses. She came back with two, and filled them both, pushing one hopefully across the table towards him. If he perceived it, he made no move, simply sat, staring into the distance, still. It was this complete lack of motion that scared her the most. It was as if all of the life had been sucked from him and all that remained was a soulless husk; the empty vessel that sailed on heedlessly with no one at the rudder.

She took a long gulp of her whiskey, felt it burn all the way down to her stomach, grateful for the earthy fullness it brought to her in this place where everything was empty. "I thought you'd be shitfaced by now," she tried again.

He bit his lip and shook his head minutely, still staring distantly, still inanimate. Her fear was growing now and not only that but frustration was taking hold too. She had primed herself to deal with an emotional, despairing, even violent drunk, had thought he would scream at her, lash out, cry even, that he would be in the very place she had inhabited in her most manic times. Now she realised that all she knew about Peter Quinn should have told her that he would never let his feelings out, never reveal them even as his soul was shredding apart. This pathetic, blunt creature would be the only way he would react to the very deepest despair; holding on to his control until he simply imploded, disintegrating into dust. Inwardly she kicked herself; she had misjudged him again but how to make it right? How could she reach him, bring him back from this, his darkest place?

She took another drink, emptied her glass, refilled it as she tracked back through her memories. Fuck, she should be good at this, hadn't she had enough experience of this sort of shit with her own condition? Why couldn't she remember an intervention from her own past that would bring him back? Panicking, casting about for help, she wondered should she call Maggie? Instantly she rejected the idea, if he ever came back, Quinn would never forgive her if she shared his state with any other person, shit he may never forgive her now because she had seen him reduced to this.

Fuck, she had to do this on her own! But how?

She looked across to him. He was a pure marble statue, all smooth, static whiteness, the dull light giving him a ghostly, grey look that made him almost ethereal, almost but not quite, as if he touched the world only barely and could find nothing to grip, nothing to hold on to. He was slipping away, melting to nothing. She yearned for his raw complexity, the jagged imperfections that made up his living being, the barbed moving edges that gave character to him but they had seemingly been rubbed away by adversity to leave only this perfect, inert figure that was simply still as the grave.

She drank again, trying to drown the hot fear that was flickering at her consciousness, threatening to steal her purpose as it had done his. She could not let that happen. He had been strong for her for so long, now she needed to be strong for him.

"Doesn't work," he said softly as she took another long swallow.

"What?" She tried to keep the surprise from her voice at his unexpected and sudden vocalisation that had brought her back from her unnerving, racing thoughts.

"Whiskey... only makes the blackest black blacker." His voice was brittle as glass.

She nodded, fearing he was about to shatter, searching for a way to stop that from happening. "So what will help?" she said, trying to remain calm, forcing away the panic that screamed in her mind.

He snorted and shook his head. "I fucked it up again, there's nothing that can help."

She stood up, moved to kneel in front of him, the cheap floor covering cold on her knees was somehow a relief from the stifling fiery fear that pulsed in the room. She wanted to touch him but sensed that it was too soon. She had to reach him only by words, soothe him like a skittish colt before he could tolerate her touch. "You don't believe that, Quinn. After everything that you've been through. Talk to me, tell me what's in your head, please. We can do this. We've done it before. Think of all the nights in the hospital. Remember what Dr Munro said, you're her star patient. Nobody else but you could have got this far."

He shook his head again. "This far? Fuck. What's that stupid saying? 'Be careful what you wish for?' I wanted this, I wanted to be out, well now I've got it." His voice was slow and sorrowful, hitching only slightly as he continued. "And now I know it's not what I fucking want. What a fucking idiot!"

For the first time he turned his head then to look at her and it broke her heart to see his wide damp eyes so desolate, so drenched with despair. She smiled reassuringly, clutching hard at her own courage, as her heart lurched for him. Very slowly she reached out and took hold of his hand, he shuddered at her touch, made as if to retract but held himself still. She sensed the strength then, the rough but solid iron core, buried so deep below this fragile, smooth exterior, yet there still, and hope sparked deep inside her, quietening her internal panic a little.

"I miss it," he continued. "I miss the team, and I miss the feeling of doing something, of making a difference. Even if it was the wrong fucking thing, at least it was something. I had power..." he gulped. She squeezed his hand gently. "Now I am just invalid, worthless..." Her hand tightened as she felt his own begin to tremble.

He was bearing his soul to her, and Carrie knew it was testament to how much he suffered that this intensely private and controlled man was forced to reveal to her so much of the molten current that swirled deep within him. Through all the time she had helped him in his recovery, she had been amazed, witnessing, but not being able to understand, the stoic strength that had pushed him on. He had not given into self pity, he had not wept and wailed, he had not once asked 'why me?' instead he had set himself a recovery plan and worked towards it methodically and mercilessly. To see him now, finally vanquished, so desolate that he was opening himself up to her one final time, sharing his demons, she knew what it was costing him and she saw the responsibility that he was thrusting on to her. There had been times, although never as bad as this, when he had asked for her help before, that she did not handle such a duty, she ran away, lost herself in the bustle of her own noise, found other petty things and pretended they were more important, deserted him. But not now, that damaged girl, so lost in her own selfish need, was gone, now she instinctively knew she had to grasp hold of the brittle vulnerability he revealed and protect it with a savage intensity like she had protected nothing else on the planet. Somewhere deep down the thought spiralled around her head that this must be what love was really about.

"Quinn," she said softly. "You don't have to pass a physical evaluation test to prove you have value. I haven't forgotten that you are where you are because you put yourself on the line for me. I will never, ever forget that."

He shook his head, gritting his teeth. "Not enough," he mumbled.

"It is more than enough. Trust me. Did you really think you were going to get back into black ops after all that you've been through?"

He gulped. "I had to prove..."

"No, you did not. You have proved enough." She lifted her hand and traced the outline of his cheekbone emphasising its sharpness as she continued resolutely,"I can name what is happening to you, I know because I have suffered it too. I know there are demons that come at night, I know the fear they bring, Christ they've stolen enough from me over the years. I know their fucking terrifying screams and I know how their claws rip everything away from you. I know how weak and insignificant they make you. I know that they suck the life from you and replace it with nothing but pure fear until you are so numb you cannot fucking function. I know them and I know you, Quinn. I know you can beat them."

He hesitated, blinking his eyes as it computed in his dulled, over-burdened mind that she understood his pain, that she was actually empathising with him, because she had suffered similar too. Carrie could sense his intense desire to believe her but the grim fear that stalked him was stronger, the power of his own demons too devastating. "I can't see a way out. I can't see how I can escape," he said, tense now, rocking slightly, on the very edge of the abyss."I can't do it. Not now."

"Yes you can. You were the one who told me, who showed me how... Together... We can do this together."

"But I'm not..."

She placed her finger gently on his lips. "Yes, you are."

He shivered violently then, a wretched groan escaped his lips and she feared that she had lost him and he would shatter into a thousand shards of sorrow before her. But, as his crisis was reached, his iron core was revealed and his robust heart revived, grasping hold of the hope she had given him, and she felt the courage begin to beat through him once more. He nodded slowly and gulped, looking down at her hand still clenching his, he returned the squeeze. She pulled him closer, suddenly holding him so tightly as if she was hauling him back from a gaping chasm and he clutched at her, accepting the salvation of her embrace.

They sat entwined for a long time, neither could find the will or the energy to pull away. Quinn pressed his face deep into her hair as if to hide, his body shuddering sporadically and she gently grasped hold of him, never wanting to let go. They were still save the shivering but it was a cherishing, supportive stillness infinitely more healthy than the one which had defined him earlier.

And then it began as she held him in her arms. She felt the statue-like smoothness of him splitting apart, his complex and raw edges spiking outwards as life and faith returned and he came back to himself and she was grateful for it. A long deep sigh and a relaxing of the tightness in his body told Carrie that exhaustion had claimed him and he was in a shallow sleep. Ignoring the discomfort and cramping in her own muscles she continued to hold him as the shadows lengthened in the room. The night grew old and day began to lighten the darkness.


	5. Back Together Again

**Back Together Again**

He woke with a startled jerk, his eyes wide and wild, darting around the room as he pulled away from her. She watched him intently, frightened that his petrifying sadness and fear may have returned.

"OK?" she asked.

Sensing her concern, he nodded his head slowly and ran his hand through his hair.

He appeared stronger, she knew he was resilient, but Carrie wondered if it was too soon to build on the progress they had made. She slowly sat back and hesitantly offered, "I met a friend of yours yesterday." Quinn's eyes were calmer as he looked at her and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Rob," she said and as his face darkened she rushed on. "He's been trying to get hold of you."

Quinn snorted in a characteristically dismissive gesture that perversely Carrie found incredibly reassuring. "He's an asshole," he muttered, his voice was tough and yet honeyed with the same sincerity that Rob had used when cursing him previously.

"He spoke very highly of you too," Carrie continued dryly. "He has a proposal for you."

Quinn moved properly for the first time since she had entered the room what seemed like a lifetime ago. He stood up stiffly as if his body was suddenly made old by the strain of what he had gone through, and he lurched away from her. It was easy to forget how close to death he had been nine short months ago, his whole body killing itself as it fought off a malicious virus and all of his major organs shut down. It was easy to forget because Quinn had recovered so well but Carrie remembered it all, every agonised whimper that he tried so hard to bite back, every painful prod, the weaning off the life-sustaining machines, endless tests, drugs that made him ill, nightmares punctuating the darkness, every muscle-straining exercise, the joy of finally walking out of the hospital and the slavish stamina to complete his programme to rebuild his broken body. It all rushed back to her now as she saw his stumbling gait, and she realised just how much more the evaluation and the harsh reality of his failure must have taken from him.

She stood up and grabbed him before he fell. "Are you OK?"

"Fine," he snapped. Carrie knew that he was still fragile beyond belief but she also realised that it had always been, and would always be, that way, until now he had simply managed to keep this vulnerability hidden behind the strongest of walls. If she wanted to help him, to love him, as she knew she did, she must accept both his strength and his weakness and she must not berate him for either. She must be patient and understand that he would hide his deep insecurity behind the confident facade he showed the world and that abrasive sureness, in turn, would easily spark her off. She must accept that such friction made them stronger. She pressed on. "You should consider it."

He snorted. "He wants me to train them," he said knowingly as he moved away from her support.

"Have you spoken to him?" She let him go but continued to watch him to see if he would falter again.

"No. I don't need to, HR are always at it. It's what they do to redeploy the fucked-up no-hopers."

"You have skills that should be passed on. You have a wealth of experience that could help the new guys out."

"Those that can do those that can't train!" His voice was withering as he gave into the exhaustion that was causing his legs to tremor and sat down on the seat furthest away from her.

"At least consider it." She knew he was tired and she hated herself for doing it but she honestly believed she still had to push him on this subject at least.

"I have."

"Consider it more."

"I don't need to."

"Why not?" She stopped, narrowing her eyes as she stared at him suspiciously.

He almost smiled, nodded his head towards his whiskey glass, still untouched. "Maybe I'll have that drink now."

She raised her eyebrows. "Maybe I'll join you and we can toast." She passed the glass to him before refilling her own. "We certainly have sufficient supplies!"

"Toast what?" His voice had taken on an air of tired apprehension as he eyed her doubtfully.

She shrugged. "To successful missions!"

He cocked his head, bleary eyes narrowing to suspicious sharpness. "What do you mean?"

Her smile was sugary sweet. "Nothing, only that you got a chance to help me out with a little operation I'm running as well as becoming the best goddamn trainer black ops ever had."

"An operation?"

"What, you think just cos you're out of action for a while the rest of the world stops? I need your help in fighting some real life fucking demons."

He nodded wearily and raised his glass. "To Carrie fucking Mathison; let's go chase our demons, both real and imaginary, together!" His voice was resigned but she saw the warm gratitude flicker in his expressive eyes as he hesitated and then said simply, "Thanks."

Though she knew he would never utter any further reference to what had happened that night, this simple acknowledgement was enough for her.

* * *

Quinn woke with a start as spring sunshine leaked through a gap in the drapes bathing the right side of his face in warmth. He gulped as the well known pain, his constant waking companion now, slithered silkily through his muscles. His head felt like wet wool, so he lay still, eyes closed, breathing deep, as he summoned the energy to reach across to grab the ever present painkillers from the side of the bed and dry swallow a couple. It was his morning ritual and he followed it religiously, laying back, waiting, as if he could feel the drug working to lessen the pain.

But physical pain was easy, he had spent a lifetime ignoring it, it was the emotional kind that he increasingly found difficult to deal with. His mind was on the verge of racing, of taking him to memories where he didn't want to go to. He fought to keep it blank for a little longer, imagining himself on a mission, searching for the peace that only being truly immersed in his field of expertise could bring. The calm eluded him, as it always seemed to now and reluctantly he let the fuzzy memory of the night before enter his conscience and with it a mass of conflicting emotion. Firstly came relief; she had come, he admitted to himself now that earlier the previous night as he sat in his paralysing, hopeless torment, he had worried that she would not, that she would find better things to do with her precious time. Resignation hit him then, that he would not blame her if she had, especially as he hadn't been honest with her about the black ops stuff. Then amazement, she had understood his pain, not just understood but helped him to fight it, brought him back when he knew that without her he would have been irrevocably lost. And then embarrassment and shame; fuck, she had seen him in that state, so weak, so out of it, how could she have anything but contempt for him now?

But she hadn't left; she had stayed and pulled him through. Or had she?

His gut twisted as he opened his eyes glancing to his left, the bed was empty. So she wasn't there now, maybe she had had afterthoughts, realised anew what a fuck up he was and gone? Maybe he would never see her again. The rush of fear strengthened within him then but he refused to succumb to it... Enough fucking thinking! He pulled himself up, ignoring the screaming in his body, stumbling to the shower, the water cleansing and relieving his body, if not his battered mind.

He donned a towel and hobbled to the kitchen, in desperate need of caffeine. It was there that he saw it, propped by the coffee jar, a quickly handwritten note. Jesus, his mind spun off into despair again; surely not like this? Trembling hand reached and picked it up, fearful eyes running along the words and then a relieved grunt at the end. She was gone but only to work and she gave an address, for him to follow, if he wanted to.

He made the coffee, telling himself to calm down. He had to stop falling into these frightening pits of fear that told him everything was about to go to hell. And yet everything was so raw, so sensitive and the fear so close. Fuck it! He had to find some fucking confidence once more.

Back in the bedroom, he went to the closet and reached out to take the next shirt as he always did but the hook was strangely empty. He looked at it for a long time, not able to continue as his familiar routine was out, his rhythm off. Then shaking his head ruefully at his own stupid rigidity, he preceded to get dressed.

The drive downtown was uneventful, in fact quite enjoyable as he relished his habitual colourful cursing at the other drivers on the road. And, as he stood outside the address Carrie had given him, even with the sudden flurry of apprehension in his gut, he felt almost good. Good enough that nobody else would be able to perceive the doubts in his mind or imagine where he had been the night before which was the just the way he wanted it.

Carrie opened the door and her appraising smile fed his newfound confidence. "Looking good," she said supportively. She hesitated, gravitating toward him, as if considering an action, but then thought better of it and turned away. He followed her into the darkened interior and then stopped in surprise as he saw what could only be described as a CIA operations room with screens flickering in the dull light. Over in the corner was a whiteboard with photographs and scribbles. "What the fuck?" he muttered.

Carrie beamed. "Welcome to Operation Chasing Demons!" she said proudly.

The figure hunched over the nearest screen turned, his features accentuated by the light of the monitor, were very familiar. "Max?" Quinn said. Max nodded not trying to hide that distasteful grimace that he seemed to reserve especially for Quinn. There was further movement from the kitchen area where the light shone on an unmistakeable balding head. "Virgil?" Quinn said.

"Hi Peter," Virgil responded. "Sorry to hear about the physical assessment result."

Quinn sniffed. "Life is full of disappointments," he muttered as his eyes continued to take in the contents of the room.

"Don't look so shocked," Carrie said clearly enjoying his surprised reaction.

"Shocked? I'm worried that Senator Lockhart is gonna come out of the john at any minute," Quinn shot back dryly.

Carrie's smile widened approvingly. "Quinn, did you just make a joke?" she asked with mock seriousness.

He stiffened and looked confused for a second before spitting back. "Are you wearing my shirt?"

Carrie's hand moved unconsciously to the collar. "Yeah, I got whiskey on my blouse last night getting you into bed."

A wave of irritation flashed through Quinn at what they had inadvertently revealed. He tried to ignore the knowing look that passed between Virgil and Max and then something deep inside him realised he was actually quite enjoying the moment, that he had missed such interaction and he allowed himself a half smile for a second. "Is someone gonna tell me what the fuck is going on here?" he growled.

"All in good time," Carrie retorted. She picked up a pile of files from one of the desks. "In the meantime I suggest you have a look at these. I'm interested to see what you make of them."

He took the offered files, ignoring the fact that their weight made his muscles shudder and pulled a face. "Paper copies? Haven't you got these electronically?" he asked.

Carrie snorted. "And that is the point," she replied cryptically. "I got to go." Again she hesitated. "Don't forget to call Rob." That supportive smile creased her lips for an instant and she was gone, leaving the scent of her perfume on the air and two men staring awkwardly at the newcomer.

"Right," Quinn said finally, biting his lip. "Guess I better do what the boss says."

Quinn read all the files that Carrie had given him but they still didn't give him much of an idea of exactly what was going on and what was at stake. His muscles were screaming from being confined too long in one place and he stood up, lurching stiffly towards the kitchen area. He arrived there at the same time as Virgil who, from the look on his face, obviously had something serious on his mind.

Quinn raised his eyebrows in question. Virgil gulped. "I think it only right for me to say, as Carrie's father isn't around any more, and since things have obviously taken a step forward with you and her..." He stopped, licked his lips. "That if you ever hurt her I will..."

Quinn's eyebrows rose higher in disbelief."Virgil," his voice matched his eyes, ice cold. "Are you fucking threatening me?"

Virgil gulped, turned a sick green colour, glanced over to where Max was watching them intently, and groaned softly but nodded nevertheless.

Quinn shook his head. "The whole world has gone fucking mad!" he observed wistfully.


	6. Intelligence Sharing

**Intelligence Sharing**

Carrie returned to the ops room during the mid afternoon, cursing under her breath at what a power crazed despot Bakri was as he had not allowed her to leave the office when she wanted to, expecting her to carry on working at her desk like everybody else. She glanced around the room, seeing only Virgil and Max, her stomach knotted.

"Where is he?" she asked keeping her voice calm as the rush of misgiving that she did not understand hit her.

Virgil shrugged. "….Said something about wanting some fresh air."

As if on cue, the door banged and Quinn entered, four cups of coffee balanced in the cardboard tray in his hand. "Can't beat the proper stuff," he muttered as he handed them around.

"Thanks." Carrie let her hand linger on his as she took a cup from him. "So are we all ready for a bout of intelligence sharing?" she asked.

She sat on a chair behind Max, who half turned, keeping one eye on the screen in front of him, Virgil sat beside him and Quinn perched on the edge of the desk behind, purposely keeping himself on the periphery.

"So, you know Samir Bakri, Quinn?" Carrie asked.

He nodded as he took a sip from his drink. "Yeah."

Carrie raised her eyebrows. "Would you care to be a little more explicit on that?"

"Not really. It's classified."

"Oh come on, Quinn," Carrie scoffed. "Less of the bullshit. We're all friends here!"

Quinn sighed and bit his lip. "Mogadishu, Somalia, job went to hell, couldn't get to the targets as planned. Ended up high-tailing it out leaving two good men dead." His voice was stony and distant, the memory obviously still hurt.

"And Bakri?"

"Turned out we were working on his Intel. It was fucked." He shook his head slowly. "He turned up at retrieval, so we brought him back. Listened to his conceited bullshit all the way home. In the end we all wished we'd just left him there to rot."

"When was this?"

Quinn shrugged. "About three years ago, not long before Brody."

"What the fuck was he doing in Mogadishu?"

"That information was never shared with me," Quinn replied. "I'm just a soldier after all."

Carrie nodded. "I knew him in Baghdad about ten years ago. He was IT Security there."

"Did you fuck him?"

"Quinn!" Carrie snorted as Max and Virgil shuffled uncomfortably.

"What? We're all friends here," Quinn responded wryly.

Carrie sent him her most withering look. She hated him when he acted this way but she also remembered the night before and her realisation that this barbed wired offence was the wall that protected him. The thought did not, however, stop her from rising to the challenge.

"Yes we did. Many times and very hot it was too!" she responded, ignoring the embarrassed flush that coloured Max's cheeks and the way Virgil flinched and looked away, she focused her blazing eyes exclusively at Quinn, who simply absorbed their heat and sipped at his coffee innocently.

Carrie continued. "We worked very closely together and he appeared to be very good. But something was off. I couldn't put my finger on it; it was more instinct than facts." She shot Quinn another challenging stare, but he remained silent, suddenly not making eye contact with her and she wondered if he was regretting his previous dig.

"I started to watch him closely, little things didn't add up. He was either increasingly sloppy or there was something else going on. I built up a dossier but when I almost got enough the operation went to hell, I got out of there and I believed that Bakri didn't make it. It was a fucking shock to see him alive and kicking at Langley."

"Seems to be a pattern emerging," Virgil said. "He plays it as long as he can and then blows up the game, re-emerging elsewhere to start all over again."

"Could just be a coincidence," Quinn said. "We only have two instances."

"That we know of!" Carrie bit back.

"Two swallows don't make a summer!" Quinn seemed determined to antagonise her. Carrie was beginning to wonder if the previous night had ever happened at all, which she reasoned was probably what he wanted her to think; another block in that fucking defensive wall of his. Concentrating her fluttering mind back on to the issue, she continued, "Which is why we set up this operation; to get some evidence."

"Operation?" Quinn repeated arching his eyebrows.

Carrie nodded. "I've been working in Bakri's Cyber Terrorism Unit at Langley."

Quinn snorted. "Sounds exciting," He said voice dripping with irony.

"Not really," Carrie snapped back even as she told herself that she shouldn't. "It's messing with my head but it's given me, well Max really, access to what we need."

She stared at Quinn challengingly and he returned the glare with no less intensity.

"He's certainly doing something weird," Virgil said, deciding the tension in the room was just too volatile and trying to focus two people who were obviously working from a different script to his, back to the, in his opinion, more important matter in question. "Tell them what you got, Max."

Max looked uncomfortable as the focus of two fiery sets of eyes switched to him. "He is accessing highly classified stuff that seems to be disappearing."

"What better place to be effective as a double agent than in the IT police?" Virgil said. "He has access to it all."

"Have operations been compromised?" Quinn asked. "Have our people died?"

Carrie nodded solemnly. "We believe so."

"Then you have to take this to Saul!" Quinn's outlook had changed dramatically over the course of the conversation, once he was aware that lives may have been lost.

Carrie hesitated and exchanged a knowing look with Virgil who stood up. "I think the need for air is catching. C'mon Max let's take a walk."

"But I..."

"C'mon Max!"

Quinn bit his lip as he watched the two men leave. "Is that for my benefit?" he asked sardonically as the door banged shut.

"No, not for you, for Max's really," Carrie's tone was dismissive but it became more somber. "There's something that I haven't told you, something that Max doesn't know either, only Virgil knows." She hesitated. "I haven't told you before because I thought you would go ballistic."

His eyes narrowed. "Try me," he said.

Carrie took a deep breath. "In Islamabad, I told you I had a chance at Haqqani but Kahn stopped me. I saw something there..." She licked her lips, wondering how best to phrase what she had to say.

"Go on," he prompted, leaning towards her expectantly.

"Dar Adal was with Haqqani." Sometimes there was no alternative but to say the words and deal with their consequences.

Quinn stiffened. "What?"

"They made a deal, Quinn. They sold us out and every one of our friends who died. They fucking spat on their graves."

She watched him minutely, saw the disbelief flash across his face, to be quickly followed by cynical acceptance. He stood up in a rush of controlled energy, ran his hand through his hair, gulping in air and shaking his head, wavering slightly as if he was unsure of his next move. She remembered his terrifying stillness of the night before, wondered if she had done the right thing in telling him now but, fuck it, there was never a good time to destroy the foundations of someone's faith completely, even if those foundations had been crumbling for some time. She needed him functioning at his best now, more than ever and he needed to know the truth.

He did not descend into fury, either violent or motionless. He held her stare for awhile before muttering bleakly. "I am glad I killed the bastard." He flexed his hands, raising one to his mouth and scrubbing at his lips edgily.

She stood up then, moved towards him and hugged him, feeling both the electric energy of his anger sparking through him and the firm control with which he held it at bay. It was not a passionate hug but one of friendship, of adversity shared and confronted together, of human closeness and each felt strengthened by the other. The antagonism of just a few minutes before melting away like morning frost in the warm spring sunshine.

Finally she stepped backwards. "There's more. Saul knew and while I don't believe he planned it, he certainly by his actions has condoned it." Her voice was frozen in bitterness.

Tenderly, feeling her pain, Quinn reached out to her and pulled her back into his arms as if to shield her from everything in the world that sort to do her harm. He buried his face deep into her hair. "I am so sorry, Carrie," he mumbled, gently rubbing her back. She pushed herself into his body, feeling his soft strength and potency surround her and wishing she could remain in this safe place forever.

The door opened with a bang and Virgil cleared his throat uncomfortably loudly. "Not interrupting anything are we?"

Carrie and Quinn immediately uncoupled, stepping away from each other with flustered haste which only served to make their previous closeness even more obvious. Max threw a knowing glance toward his companion but Virgil ignored it, focussing his attention on an imaginary stain on his jeans and rubbing at it distractedly as he bumbled towards the kitchen area.

"So what is the plan?" Quinn asked.

"We need more intel," Carrie said. "We need to keep watching. And you and I need to decide who is the best person in the Agency to take this to. What about the new Head of Black Ops?"

Virgil shivered. "Suneeta Chankria? She's a fire-breathing dragon, so I hear," he said.

Quinn snorted. "I have a meeting with her tomorrow. I'll see what she's like. She's from outside, no black ops experience at all, so she may be clean, or she may not. Christ knows."

"My advice is you should wear your fireproof underwear if you're seeing her, Peter," Virgil added. "She toasts agents for fun - your black ops boys do not stand a chance with her!"


	7. Thank You

**Thank you**

Virgil left at dusk because it was his bridge night and after much obvious but nevertheless non verbal messaging from him, Max suddenly developed a healthy interest in the game and decided he had to leave too. Which left Carrie and Quinn alone in the ops room.

Carrie sighed. "Well, doesn't this remind you of a different time, frightening déjà vu." She rolled her eyes.

They were sitting together in front of the screens, not quite as high tech as the official CIA equipment, but Virgil had done his best. On the screen they could see Bakri, lying on his bed, drinking a bottle of beer.

"You mean when we were Brody watching?" Quinn responded.

"Brody watching?" Carrie scoffed. "You make it sound like a fucking spectator sport."

"It was for some of us."

Carrie turned to look at him, wondering exactly what he meant and pondering the fact that their relationship was suddenly more intense than ever. It seemed so easy for him to provoke her and she could not resist the challenge. Would it always be this overwrought? She had to find a way to release some of the building pressure.

As if picking up her annoyance this time, however, he smiled tightly. "Greek or Indian?" he asked.

"Christ, you choose this time."

After they'd finished eating, and had coffee, he stood up, gathered up the mess and took it through to the kitchen area. To his surprise she followed. "Quinn," she began sounding uncharacteristically nervous as he turned to her expectantly, wiping his greasy hands on a towel. "I want to thank you," she continued.

"Thank me?"

"Yeah." Her voice was husky and her eyes veiled with what could only be described as rampant lust. "We've waited a long time for this."

She reached up and ran her sweet tasting fingers across his lips. Quinn was shocked at how quickly he felt his body shudder as her touch ignited a flame deep inside and passion roared through him. She pushed him against the kitchen wall behind him and he let out a gasp as his head hit hard. Before he could right himself she was in front of him, kneeling, fiddling with his fastening.

"Carrie" he gasped as the cold, liberating air hit his penis, which once released from constraint began to swell and throb wildly.

He wanted to protest, wanted to stop her but there was something terrifyingly alluring to be treated in such a masterful way; forced, overwhelmed, compelled to acquiesce. And then her warm, sweet mouth engulfed him and he was panting, sweating, his heart thumping in his chest. In seconds his cock was completely erect, hard and aching and Carrie smiled as she devoted herself to attending to him. For the briefest moment the thought came to Quinn that he should refuse her, move away, that this would change everything, that this was not the way he wanted this to happen, but it had been too long since he had been touched in such a blatantly provocative way. The walls that had guarded his unrequited passion for so long, tumbled quickly and irrevocably. The need to simply feel engulfed him and chased his logical thought away. All that mattered was the emotion that crashed through him.

He was moaning softly, pushing his head back against the wall behind him, bracing himself on it as his legs quivered and threatened to give way, running his hands through the soft hair on the head kneeling at his crotch as her hands reached up thrusting under his shirt, searching out his nipples, tweaking, pinching. As she tormented him with her teeth and tongue, he was borne along on the wave of passion. The power of intensely held feelings, kept unfulfilled for years and now viciously escaping, flashed through him and he gasped with sorrow and yearning and pleasure as Carrie swirled her tongue around the head of his cock. It felt like a matter of mere moments until he could feel his orgasm begin to roll from the depths of his soul. Her hands moved around his back, down across his buttocks, where they hovered for a second before she clutched hard and forced him to thrust forward, swallowing his ecstatic member.

He could not control the groan as he exploded into her mouth. He was falling, bursting forth, a vessel of nothing but feeling, intense and immense. She licked him clean then, as he struggled to remain standing, the aftershocks shuddering through him more violent then any orgasm he could remember.

She smiled up at him. "Thank you, Quinn." she said simply.

Still breathing hard he reached down and pulled her to her feet, embracing her tightly to his chest, smothering her face in passionate kisses. Already he could feel his desire returning. Not just a longing to take her physically, but a need to possess her bold spirit, her fiery soul. Startling words he had never spoken before suddenly tumbled out of his mouth. "I love you, Carrie," he whispered breathlessly. "Stay with me forever." He reached down took hold of her chin gently and raised her upwards until he could cover her mouth with his. He smelled of coffee and wanting and musky aftershave and the fuzzy stubble on his chin tickled her face as he kissed her, his lips soft and warm.

Carrie felt her legs go weak as a hot pulse began between them the like of which she hadn't felt in months. He teased his mouth across hers, languid, leisurely, deliberate kisses that set her pulse racing and left her gasping for breath when he pulled away. "Let me thank you too," he whispered, tracing his tongue along the line of her jaw to lick at her ear, making it difficult for her to think.

Feeling his arms encircle her waist Carrie relaxed and leaned into him, letting the hot pulsations from her crotch flow across her and merge with the tingling that was now playing along her lips where he kissed her. She met his kisses with enthusiasm, opening her mouth so that his tongue had easy access to hers as her hands crept up his back to scratch at him. Quinn gave a deep groan and lifted her from the floor. Slowly, lips and tongues still interlaced, he moved back into the ops room and deposited her gently onto one of the desks, grinding his crotch against hers so that she could feel the hard evidence of his reinvigorated arousal.

She ran her hands along his back and downwards to push his jeans and boxers to his ankles and clutch at muscular buttocks and thighs and then slid around and cup his balls, drawing a moan of approval. The hot mouth that had been pressed to hers now moved down, nibbling softly at her neck before finding her nipple, already taut and aching. Carrie gave a little mew of delight when Quinn sucked in the small nub of flesh and teased it with his tongue through her shirt. His thumb and fingers roused the other nipple with little pinches and Carrie couldn't help but wriggle her hips and arch her back upwards and away from the cold, hard desk top in an effort to press against him. She was quick and willing and he gave a little groan of appreciation.

When her hand moved up from his balls to stroke along the rigid pole of muscle it found there, erect once more so soon, Quinn gave another desperate groan. "Yes," he hissed into her ear. "Yes!" Her touch seemed to have driven him past some point of rational thought, for he suddenly took her thighs and pushed them apart, his cock searching for her entrance. When he found it he plunged in without reservation, finding her soaked and more than ready. Carrie squeaked as he filled her, throwing her hands back, pushing all of Max's neatly stacked piles of paperwork on to the floor and clutching at the desk, her nails grating its surface as he pulled back and then buried his length in her again. In moments he had found his rhythm and was thrusting with hard, forceful strokes, each one sending a flash of pleasure through Carrie so exquisite she could barely think, could only react, her little shrieks matching each of his movements.

Hard fingers gripped Carrie's shoulders and she answered the gesture with her own, reaching around to grasp and claw at Quinn's back, feeling the smooth material of his shirt fold and crease under her nails, pushing it up and away so she could feel his slick sweaty skin. Lifting her legs she locked her ankles around the small of his back and she felt him tense and speed up just a little. His long strokes became shorter, harder, each one thumping up against her clitoris, until he gave a short, breathy groan and slammed into her one last time.

Carrie felt him vibrating as he spurted inside her and she wiggled beneath him. "Don't stop!" Her eyes tightly shut, her voice was fractured and desperate as she hovered perilously close to the edge, wanting, needing, him to take her over into the wonders beyond.

She heard him grunt softly and he began to move again, and she was so close it took only three or four hard thrusts and she was coming, the warm flush of her orgasm spreading across her body as she whimpered softly. Her vaginal muscles tightened and contracted and Quinn gasped in appreciation as his sensitive shaft was squeezed and stroked over and over.

Too soon, he stretched stiffly and pulled out, leaving her suddenly bereft even as the aftershocks rolled through her. She opened her eyes to see him bending to pull up his jeans, his face strangely brooding in the flickering light. She shivered as if a cold draft had hit her and sat up. "What's wrong?" she asked.

He stopped, looked at her with eyes that were at once filled with sincere yearning but also an unfathomable sadness. "It shouldn't have been this way. I shouldn't have..." His glance flicked around the room as he hesitated.

Feeling her hot sweat cooling on her skin, she reached out to him and he came back then, to hold her hands and kneel before her. "What do you mean?" she asked, fearing his reply.

"It shouldn't have been here," he said.

She shook her head. "No, here was exactly right."

"I wanted candles, soft music, wine, flowers... a bed." he muttered.

She reached across and ran her finger along his sharp jawline, cupping his face in her hands and staring deep in his blue eyes. "My god, Quinn," she chuckled in relief. "I never had you down as a romantic."

"It should be right," he said earnestly.

She pulled him up from his knees and closer and kissed him long and hard. "Next time," she said. "Next time we will have everything but this time was perfect, this time was right."

"Really?" He still sounded unconvinced. "There will be a next time?"

"Really." She lay back again pulling him down on top of her for a long sloppy kiss. They clung together for long moments, her hand reaching down between his legs again and then he pulled back. "I can't, not again, not yet," he disclosed apologetically.

She nodded. "I know, I just want to hold you close, never let you go."

He gulped at her admission, the flash of doubt still visible in his wide eyes. He took hold of her hand, began to kiss it and ran his lips up her arm, covering her pale smooth skin with kisses. As he reached her shoulder, he hesitated, his eyes caught by the image on the screen before them and she felt him stiffen.

"Shit," he muttered.

"What?" she asked, she bent her head backwards, arching her back until she could see the screens, her gaze following where his eyes stared. Although she was getting the picture upside down, it was obvious what was causing Quinn's consternation. Bakri's room was empty.

Quinn slid off her, and she pulled herself up, re-arranging her tangled clothes as she went. They both stared at the screens. "Where the fuck did he go?" Carrie asked using her hand to comb through her tangled hair nervously, her eyes flitting from one screen to the others but receiving the same message from all of them.

Quinn shook his head. "He's in the fucking wind."


	8. Once a Scalp Hunter

**Once a Scalp Hunter**

Carrie arrived at work early the next morning, still feeling the satisfying afterglow of her night with Quinn. She was annoyed and worried that Bakri was still in the wind, but somehow that wasn't as important as it once could have been.

A couple of hours later and with still no sign of Bakri, the excesses of the night weighing heavily on her, coupled with the mind blowing tediousness of staring at a screen full of letters and numbers, her craving for caffeine began to itch. The coffee machine on their floor was broken and the one on the next out of cups and she soon found herself standing in the HR Department.

It was a large open plan office with a number of weary pot plants distributed between desks which added absolutely no positive aesthetic to the place whatsoever. About half of the desks were occupied and there was the dull drone of conversation heard over the somewhat more exciting buzz of the PCs.

Without really thinking, Carrie moved to the middle of the room and cleared her throat. Thelma, the admin assistant, turned from the photocopier and muttered, as if in the way of explanation for her colleagues. "Carrie fucking Mathison!"

"That's right." Carrie's tone was belligerent and aggressive as she began. "I don't know who the fuck you people think you are but I am here to tell you it is not OK to do what you're doing. What the fuck gives you the right to pass judgement over anybody else? Run a fucking book on us " she scoffed.

There was a startled silence in the room as eyes widened and mouths fell open in utter shock at this completely unprovoked although possibly deserved attack.

Carrie snorted. "For your fucking stupid record," she continued. "Peter Quinn and I are just good friends so you can all just shut the fuck up!" She glared around the room, eyes flaring their challenge at everyone else there but nobody responded. "Fine!" Carrie finished and turning on her heel stalked out of the room, still with no coffee.

The silence lasted for a good two minutes after she had gone and then sour-faced Susan pulled her cheeks together as if she was sucking lemons, shook her head and pronounced in her voice of gravel and glue, "They're fucking already... Twenty bucks says he'll have her pregnant by Thanksgiving. Black ops guys go at it like rabbits when they get the chance." And then as an afterthought she qualified, "So I hear!"

Everyone then started talking in thoroughly thrilled astonishment that their day had been enlivened by such drama. Thelma nodded vehemently in agreement with sour-faced Susan. "Crazy motherfucker," she muttered and then turned back to the photocopier.

* * *

Suneeta Chankria was a beautiful woman from the tips of her six inch stiletto heels to the top of her perfectly coiffured, curly black hair and all points in between. Physically attractive, she enhanced her natural beauty with the most expensive fashions and the most expertly applied make-up. She expected to get her way in all things and would always use her womanly wiles to ensure that was the case. Almost fifty now, she knew that she looked at least ten years younger and her looks appealed to men of any age. The power of presentation was everything to her.

However, she was not a vacuous woman, far from it. The only daughter of an Indian doctor who had finished his training in the UK and never returned to his own country as planned, preferring instead to explore westwards to the States and who soon found himself scandalously married to the heiress of a rich New England family, Suneeta had lacked for nothing, and had used her cosseted start in life as a spring board to launch herself even further upwards. Her trajectory was truly incredible as she carved out her career, taking in her stride her latest appointment as Director of Black Operations at the CIA, as just another step towards her ultimate aim to become the first Indian, woman President of the U.S. Her dream since childhood because she always aimed high and always got what she wanted. The fact that she had no experience in this particular field did not worry her at all, she was possessed of a brilliant mind, the ultimate chess player, a strategic thinker with few equals and what was covert ops if not moving the available pieces to the correct place at the correct time? It was all a game to her, but a game that she truly relished. She laughed at her critics and bit back with the line, "You don't need to get your hands dirty to know what filth is and how to eradicate it!"

She also prided herself on her ability to read men, to understand what made them tick and to ruthlessly exploit it to get what she wanted which was why she was confident that she could deliver in the male dominated world of black ops. She sat now in her office using her well practised skill to appraise the man that stood in front of her: spiky hair, unshaven chin and rumpled jacket, dark rings around his blood shot eyes; he looked like he had been awake all night. He had obviously made no effort to impress and so he was not immediately the sort of man who would attract more than a cursory glance from her, but she had found that about a lot of her new staff; what did your appearance matter when you were able to melt into the background and avoid being seen apparently at will? It was an organisational habit she was finding increasingly tiresome.

"Sit," she commanded.

He cleared his throat. "I'd rather..." he began.

"Sit," she repeated, fixing him with a contemptuous stare until he shrugged unconvincingly and complied.

She sat back into her own chair, regarding him. There was a nervous energy that she saw manifested by the muscle flicking at the side of his cheek but apart from that he appeared unperturbed, holding himself together pretty well. She wondered how long that would last, some of these black ops guys were pretty tough she had to concede but while they knew how to operate in their own world of the alpha male, none of them had the slightest skill in managing a thrusting and dominant female. None were a match for her. She well understood the rules of the game, to achieve as a female in a man's world she had to be more extreme in every area that her male counterparts; it was a role she was born to play. Yet again she thanked dear Dar Adal for his outdated and old fashioned masculine methods which she was now able to exploit mercilessly to ensure that she got what she wanted in the end. This brought her rather nicely back to the agent in front of her.

"Peter Quinn," she began. "I've been wanting to meet you for some time. I believe I owe you my thanks."

He looked startled at this. "You do?" was his guarded response. Whatever he had been thinking was going to be her opening gambit it was certainly not this. She liked to be blunt, found it a useful weapon particularly with people who were so used to working with smoke and mirrors that they forgot the power of the sun.

She smiled coolly, continuing on the same vein. "I believe you murdered my predecessor."

He gulped, his Adam's apple working up and down his throat, as he considered his response. His pause was vaguely impressive to her; most men, being anxious to plead their innocence, would have jumped straight in. Finally he said, "I didn't murder him."

"But you killed him and in doing so you laid the way clear for my next career move, so I thank you."

A wave of distaste swept across his face for an instant and it looked like he was about to snap back but then he closed himself down, features falling into that secret service neutral face that they all kept in their lockers; another trait that Suneeta found extremely annoying.

"Do you see yourself as a King, or in this case a Queen maker, Peter?" she asked.

"I find any death regrettable," he replied steadily.

"Any death?" she repeated. "What a strange comment for a trained assassin, but then I'm not surprised, I've read your file and an interesting story it tells." His gaze was solid and sure, his jaw, the twitching muscle now controlled, was set firm and she knew he was not going to respond. The confident stillness that was around him like a cloak was intriguing but she enjoyed the challenge of breaking it, more than the thought of admiring it, and so she continued. "You remind me of the girl in the nursery rhyme with a curl on her forehead. Do you remember the one?"

His eyes narrowed and she could see the confusion and doubt there as he tried to fathom her attack strategy. Finally he shook his head. She smiled, "When you're good you're good but when you're bad you're horrid! Does that fit you, Peter?"

"I don't know what you mean, ma'am," he said stiffly, falling back into starchy formality.

"No, I don't expect you do." She sat and stared at him for a long time and he remained aloof and composed, comfortable in the silence, not faltering beneath the authoritative gaze that had reduced many other men. Eventually she sighed and looked away, extending her hand to inspect her perfectly varnished nails. "I know what they say about me," she began. "I'm only here to improve the diversity figures, pick me and you get two ticks in the boxes for the price of one. Is that what you think, Peter?"

"It doesn't matter what I think," he said. "You're here to do a job, that's all that's important."

She laughed at that. "Oh I wish that it were so," she said wistfully. "Politics always get in the way." She tossed her head, knowing her curls would dance flirtatiously. It did not seem to affect him so she skewered him with her most serious stare. "Now let's get back to you. I would not have let you back on to the Team even if you had passed the physical assessment."

That shocked him, caused him to jerk forward on the chair. "May I ask why?"

"You know this place is like Hotel California?" He raised his eyebrows quizzically, obviously not getting her meaning. God, these people were all so engrossed in their jobs, they were all cultural philistines, she thought not for the first time, before continuing. "You can check out any time you like but you can never leave?" He shook his head slowly baffled by her words. She signed and decided to resort back to being frank. "Because you lot always keep coming back. Once a scalp hunter as they say... but not you. I don't trust you; I don't think your heart is in it. From your file, I don't think it's been in it for some time. How many times did you ask to quit?"

He drew in a deep frustrated breath. "This is all fucking academic, don't you think?" he snapped. It was the nearest she had come to getting an unguarded reaction out of him and she made a mental note to remember this particular chink in his armour.

She rolled her eyebrows. "Don't be facetious and watch your mouth. If there is one thing I cannot stand it is bad language, it shows both a lack of respect and a disgraceful lack of vocabulary!"

He sat back then as if to remove himself from her attack range, his expression fixed and unreadable almost like a naughty school boy being disciplined yet again in the principal's office, she thought. Her smile widened, she had gone far enough for now, time to let him ruminate on the experience for a while. "So what am I going to do with you?" she asked her tone more gentle. "I have long admired people who can train, who can pass their skills and experience on to the next generation, who can nurture potential into performance. Do you think you can do that?"

"I believe so ma'am," he responded stiffly.

She sat back now appraising him once more. "There is one more thing," she said. "I expect complete devotion from my boys. I think that's where you might falter, Peter. I think your loyalty lies elsewhere. So I will say only this, if I find that you have divulged my secrets to either Saul Berenson or Carrie Mathison or have acted against my interests in any way, I shall make it my utmost priority to destroy both of them and I shall ensure that you are there to witness the whole thing before I annihilate you. Do I make myself clear?"

He nodded. "Perfectly ma'am."

"Good." Her smile turned sweet. "Then I believe we are done here."

Quinn exited into the daylight and Rob approached him with a knowing smile on his face. "Quite a ball breaker isn't she?" Quinn grunted noncommitedly so Rob continued, "Maybe she'll be all right."

Quinn rolled his eyes. "You fucking think?"

Rob's smile widened as he acknowledged Quinn's rebellious choice of language. "Well she's certainly different from Dar. She good about our plans?"

Quinn snorted. "I guess, although it was pretty hard to tell. When do I start?"

"Got a new bunch coming through, started last week, we could do with your help."

Quinn's phone buzzed. He read the text and then looked back at Rob. "Right. I just might need a little time." Rob raised his eyebrows. "I got something else going on," Quinn continued by way of explanation.

"Didn't our new Mistress give you her talk on loyalty and what she expects from her 'boys', Peter? She'll take great delight in ripping off your balls if she finds out you're playing away."

Quinn put his phone back into his pocket and grimaced bleakly. "But she's not going to fucking find out, is she?"


	9. In Harm's Way

**In Harm's Way**

Once on his own, walking back to the parking lot, Quinn rang Carrie. "What gives?" he asked.

Carrie snorted. "Still no sign of Bakri. He hasn't come into work. Virgil and I went around to his flat, it's empty. He's gone. This is exactly what he fucking did last time; as soon as I get close, shit happens and he disappears!" Her voice was shaking in frustration and anger.

"Slow down," Quinn soothed as he got into his truck. "We can sort this out. Have you checked airports, trains, buses?"

"As best we can but there are only three of us!" Carrie responded in despair. "We're checking with the cops now,"

Quinn nodded. "Right. I've got some favours I can pull in." He sighed imagining Carrie's annoyed face and wished he could give some further reassurance. "Give me a couple of hours..."

"Be careful, Quinn," she said. "This fucker is clever." There was a pause and then, "Oh by the way, how did it go with the 'fire-breathing dragon?'" Carrie asked as an afterthought.

"Hot," he muttered with an audible gulp and then, "Not sure, I'll tell you later," he continued more confidently. "I gotta go. I'll ring when I get something."

"OK," she replied numbly.

Having heard the whole conversation on speaker phone, Virgil moved to put a comforting arm around Carrie's shoulders. "He'll be fine," he soothed softly. "This sort of action is nothing compared to what he's trained for."

Carrie sighed and shook her head. "I don't know, Virgil," she disclosed. "He's not fit enough for this, remember? All of my fucking alarm bells are going off at once - there's something wrong here. I should go with him."

"We need you here."

* * *

Quinn sat quietly in his truck, breathing deeply, trying to find the calm confidence that normally enfolded him when he was on a mission. He had felt better since Carrie had helped him escape his emotional crisis, had even congratulated himself on how he had reacted when his new, obviously completely deranged boss, had goaded him but now he could feel the cracks beginning to fracture once more. His hands were trembling, his head throbbing with the start of a headache and his legs felt too heavy to move; in short he knew he needed to get some sleep. It wasn't exactly a startling revelation to him, given the excesses of the night before and his known physical limitations. Still, he hated that he could feel this wrecked after doing something that before would not have even caused him to breathe heavily. He stopped the thought, a slight smile creasing his lips as he conceded to himself that maybe Carrie would have still taken his breath away, no matter what his physical state.

He snorted, pulling himself back to focus. He had called in his favours, but got nothing of any value back, and so had wasted much of the day chasing shadows. He had delayed getting back to Carrie because he didn't want to let her down but now he knew he had exhausted all possibilities, so he reached for the phone.

"Hey," she answered her voice had an expectant lilt.

"Hey."

"Anything?"

"No."

"Fuck, fuck!" The line went silent for a few seconds and Quinn could picture her, facing the disappointment, running her hand through her hair nervously, getting herself together, focusing and moving on. "So what do we do?" she asked.

"I think we have got to tell somebody at the Agency," he replied. "Fuck knows how many people we are compromising at this moment. Time is so important to this."

She snorted. "I can't tell Saul. I don't trust him."

"I know," he soothed. "And I don't know that Ms Chankria is gonna be any better. But I figure maybe if we tell them both together, so that they both know each other knows, maybe it would act as a sort of regulation over both of them..." His voice was hesitant and trailed off into a gloomy, weak murmur.

Carrie picked up his lack of intensity instantly. "You OK, Quinn?" she asked.

"Yeah." He knew his voice was less than convincing but exhaustion was threatening to overrun him completely. He scrubbed at his eyes in irritation and continued, "Yeah, just tired I guess. This is too big for us to let it ride." He diverted the conversation away from him back to the important business.

"OK," Carrie responded. "But I'll do it. You need to keep out of this in case it turns into a fuck up."

"What, you worried about my career now, Carrie? My new boss will just have to suck it up," he snapped viciously, overreacting but he just couldn't stop himself.

"No, it's not that." She didn't bite, keeping her tone neutral. "I need to keep you out of it for back up if I need it later..." She stopped herself from mentioning anything to do with his reduced physical state which his irritated and tired responses were accentuating to her even from this phone call. The line went silent. "Are you still there, Quinn?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

She pressed on before he could say anything else. "I need you to pick up Franny from day care for me. Take her to Maggie's cos fuck knows when I'm going to be able to get Saul and Chankria together - this could take all night." No response. "Quinn?"

He snorted irately. "I don't like it, Carrie," he said simply.

"I know but it's the best we can do."

He hung up before she could say anything else. She drew in a long breath and then pushed all concerns out of her head to concentrate on her next move.

Quinn threw his phone across his truck in frustration. He felt like shit, it was true, but that only made the hurt he felt doubly painful. Since when had he been relegated to picking the child up from day care? Ordinarily it was a job he enjoyed immensely, his relationship with little Franny had been a source of great pleasure over the course of his rehabilitation but not when there was an operation going on that he should be involved in. Not when other people, and Carrie specifically, were putting themselves in harm's way.

He scrubbed at his chin nervously and then took the bottle of painkillers out of his pocket and swallowed a couple. He had to get it together but the fog of the headache was expanding in his mind making it doubly difficult to concentrate. He snorted, shook his head to dissipate the daze and started up the truck.

He took longer picking Franny up than expected because she insisted on taking him into the messy room at the back to show him the painting of her mother that she had done that afternoon. He managed to make all the right enthusiastic noises of encouragement and agreed that Carrie would really appreciate her daughter's efforts. He was relieved that such artistic activity had obviously taken it out of Franny and she fell asleep almost instantly once he got her into the car seat. Previous trips had been accompanied by enthusiastic but tuneless and very loud nursery rhyme singing, and he didn't think his head could have taken it on this occasion.

The journey to Maggie's was therefore peaceful and as the painkillers began to kick in, Quinn began to feel better. He started to consider depositing Franny and then going back to Langley; he wasn't getting any more comfortable with the thought of Carrie going it alone with the two CIA heavyweights.

As they pulled up the driveway Franny showed that uncanny toddler knack of waking up just as the journey had ended. She started to chatter about the events of the day, and Quinn smiled and nodded. He went around the truck, unfastened her straps and gently lifted her out, blowing a funny noise at her that caused her to crack out in laughter as he placed her on the path. Franny, still giggling, made towards the door on her little legs where Maggie had appeared. He turned back to get her bag, as he did so he saw a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye but it did not register until he heard Maggie scream.

He turned then, his adrenaline already pumping as he reached for the gun in its holster at his waist. He took in the scene before him in seconds; Maggie was standing pale and petrified on the porch her hand at her mouth, over to his left stood a remotely familiar figure beside an open car door, while on the lawn in front of him a black clad man had swept Franny up into his arms and was running toward the car.

Quinn fired one shot, high and wide and everyone stopped to stare at him. "Let her go!" he shouted as he brought the gun down bringing the figure into his sights.

The man stopped, threw a hesitant glance across to his colleague. From his position of relative safety at the car, Bakri pointed his own gun at Quinn and let out a confident chuckle. "Well if it isn't Carrie's fucked up black ops beau! It's been a long time, Quinn!"

"Let her go!" Quinn repeated menacingly.

"Can't do it. Things have got fucked up again. Carrie sticking her nose in where it is not wanted as usual and now I need an insurance policy and the little girl happens to be it."

Franny had begun to sob softly, the man's grip on her tightened as his stress and fear grew. Quinn could see the podgy skin of her upper arm was stark white where the rough hand squeezed it. He felt a rush of indignant rage threaten to engulf him; how dare anyone take such a liberty on his watch? Fighting to stay calm, he took a step forward, moving to support his gun holding right hand with his left as he felt the dreaded twitch begin again. Sweat began to bead along his brow and the headache throbbed incessantly behind his eyes. He blinked trying to maintain his focus, fighting to find that inner calm and strength that he had used in such dangerous situations many times previously. Fuck, this was not the time for any weakness to show.

"Peter?" Maggie's voice was thin with panic and dread.

"It's OK, Maggie," he soothed. "Stay exactly where you are. It's gonna be OK."

Bakri snorted. "You think?" he mocked.

Quinn ignored him, fighting his failing body to concentrate on the other man. "Put her down," he demanded, "Or I will blow out your fucking brains."

"He won't take the shot. Not with the kid there. Hold on to her, Joaquín, she's the best chance you got!" Bakri instructed and the other man seemed to take courage from his words as he tried to shrink further behind the now struggling and crying little girl. "So what are you gonna do now?" Bakri asked.

Quinn gulped, blinking the sweat from his eyes. He knew that Bakri was right; it was a difficult shot, one that he could have done once, in his prime, but not now. Now he didn't dare take it, not with Franny so close, not with his arm wavering like a sapling in a storm. He had to do something else and quickly. Bakri would not want to hang around now a gun had gone off in a residential neighbourhood, soon it would be crawling with cops. The beginnings of a plan leapt into his mind and without a thought for his own safety, he snatched at it. "Take me," he said.

"The fuck!" Bakri laughed.

"Fucking take me!" Quinn shifted his gun so that it was now pointing at Bakri.

"Why should I?"

"Because you don't need the kid. I'll work just as well as an insurance policy, probably better. You don't want the hassle of a toddler on your hands."

"And a black ops agent would be so much easier... not," Bakri snorted but he was obviously considering the proposal.

"I could fucking end it for you right now, Bakri!" Quinn snarled, pointing his gun directly at the other man, hoping the distance was too far for the other man to notice the unsteadiness of his aim. "Then take my chances with your friend. Whatever the outcome you wouldn't be around to see it."

"And I could take you down too, Quinn." Bakri spat back, waving his own gun somewhat more theatrically.

"Could you? Really?" Quinn's voice was iced confidence. "In broad daylight and cold blood? You're playing for keeps now. I thought spreadsheets and emails were more your style!"

Bakri hesitated, doubt undeniably obvious across his features. "OK, " he said finally. "But put the gun down."

Quinn shook his head. "Let the girl go. Let Maggie take her into the house and then I'll put my gun down."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"You have my word."

"What fucking good is that?" Bakri mocked but he signalled to his colleague. "Put her down, Joaquin."

"But..."

"No fucking buts... I've got him covered. Do it!"

Slowly Joaquín lowered the girl to the floor. Franny stood, unsure of what to do, her big fear filled eyes on Quinn, her lower lip quivering, tears smudged on her cheeks, she took a hesitant step towards him. Quinn's stomach constricted at the sight. How he wanted to rush to her and gather her up, start running and keep running until they were safely away, but, instead he smiled reassuringly. "Run to Auntie Maggie, Princess," he said kindly. "Take her Maggie. Go inside, lock the door and call Carrie. Tell her I got this."

"What you got?" Bakri's mocking voice said. "You got jack shit is what you got, black ops boy!"

As the little girl ran towards her, Maggie took a couple of steps from the porch and grabbed Franny. She hesitated for a second, throwing Quinn a helpless but grateful look. He smiled bravely at her and nodded toward the house and she did as she was told.

The door shut with a loud bang and the scene was suddenly silent in expectation.

Bakri walked towards Quinn. "Put it down," he ordered.

Quinn gave him his hardest stare, waiting for the shadow of doubt to appear in Bakri's eyes. Once it had, he dropped his gun onto the lush grass in front of him and raised his hands.

Bakri pushed away the uneasy feeling of vulnerability that Quinn's unflinching stare had given him and forced a chuckle. "So, I think it's gonna be a lot of fun having you around for a while, eh?" As he spoke he gleefully landed a hard punch right into Quinn's stomach, the wind whooshed out of Quinn's lungs as pain rushed in and he fell to his knees with a grunt. "Not so much for you though, loser!" Bakri scoffed. "Joaquin, this motherfucker is dangerous as fuck so watch him cos your life depends on it!" Bakri ordered. "Now get him in the car."


	10. Sufferng the Consequences

**Suffering the Consequences**

Carrie took a deep breath and glanced at her watch. She had been sitting outside Saul's office for some time and it was getting late. It had taken her most of the afternoon and some very fast talking to even get Saul and Chankria together but now they were, they seemed determined to have their own conversation which did not include her and she was relegated to sitting outside, listening to the hum of their voices ebb and flow. Forced to wait as time ticked irreversibly away.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She took it out and looked at it. Maggie again. Carrie had three missed calls from her sister in the last few minutes. She knew she should call her back, but she didn't want to be on the phone when she finally got invited through to the meeting. What could possibly be wrong? Quinn should have delivered Franny by now. Carrie reasoned that Maggie would probably only want to check on what Franny should have to eat, so ignoring the nagging voice of her intuition, she put the phone back in her pocket, unanswered.

Just as she did so, Saul opened his office door and beckoned her forward. She moved into the office and felt the tension immediately. It was like walking from an air conditioned room into baking hot midday sunshine; Carrie sensed the sheer intensity of the previous conversation still resonating threateningly in the room in the sultry silence that hit her as she entered.

Suneeta Chankria sat on a comfy chair to her left, inspecting her nails and appearing supremely relaxed, only the slight, sweaty and unladylike sheen on her cheeks revealing her involvement in the previous exchange. Saul, on the other hand, looked like he had just completed a particularly debilitating boxing bout. He looked old and grey, and insignificant somehow, as if his pumped up presence had been deflated by Carrie's loss of faith in him. Pointedly he refused to meet her stare. The colossal gap between them was irrevocable and Carrie could find no sympathy in her heart even though it was obvious he had lost the preceding exchange. Instead she determined to take advantage of his weakened state to get what she wanted. So, ignoring the still rumbling aftershocks of the previous conflict, she sat on the chair indicated and placed her file of evidence on the desk.

Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it, wished she had switched the damn thing off.

"So, Carrie," Saul's tone was clipped with frigidity. "Would you like to explain what this is all about?"

"What do you know about Samir Bakri?" she asked. She knew she did not have time to start with the luxury of a deliberate and considered offensive strategy. Besides she knew her opponent so very well, consequently she went for a characteristic and concentrated brutal attack from the very beginning.

Saul drew in a long breath, still refusing to meet her challenging stare. "Why?" he asked.

"Why is he here?" Carrie pressed.

Saul shuffled guiltily on his chair. "I don't see..." he began.

"No that's the problem, Saul," Carrie snapped. "You don't see and in your position that's fucking lethal."

Saul looked at her. "Carrie, it's not what you think."

Carrie scoffed viciously. "You don't know what I think. You haven't known since Islamabad. You know, I really wish that Quinn hadn't stopped me. I really wish I had taken that shot, taken out Haqqani and you, when I had the chance...it may have destroyed me too but how much better would this world be without you in it?"

"We all have wished for a different ending, Carrie." Saul said looking stunned and incredibly uncomfortable and throwing a warning glance towards Chankria who was listening avidly.

"Don't mind me," she said smoothly. "This is absolutely fascinating!"

"But we all have to suffer the consequences," Saul continued ignoring her and looking at Carrie imploringly for the first time. "Do the best we can in the circumstances." He tried to distance himself from the force of Carrie's battering glare.

"Yes, we do," Carrie agreed, her eyes blazing relentlessly at her one-time mentor. "And that doesn't include making deals with terrorists and spitting on the graves of our countrymen!"

"Carrie, I have told you..."

"Yes, you have. It wasn't your plan, you said already numerous times, but you could have done something about it instead of using it to get your own unscrupulous hands back on the power."

Saul shook his head and let out an extremely tired sigh. "Carrie this isn't the time to debate this further. We have to move on." He was flailing desperately in the face of her sustained assault.

Carrie's phone buzzed again. She hesitated as the anger thrummed through her but she controlled it, ignored the phone, focused her fury and made her voice impassive as she returned to her earlier attack. "OK, let's move on then. Why is Bakri here?"

Saul hesitated, took off his glasses and raised his hands to his face wearily as if protecting himself from physical blows. He sat with his head in his hands for long seconds and then his voice was resigned as he finally looked up and said, "All right, cards on the table?"

"It would be fucking nice to think you would tell me the truth after everything I put myself through for you." Carrie was calm but uncompromising, landing her blows with controlled venom.

"I brought him here."

"Why?"

"Why do you think? To lure you back. Carrie, I have made no secret of the fact that I need you. I tried everything I could to get you back into action. Bakri was my latest play, the bait that I thought would tempt you."

Carrie shook her head. "You have fucking lost it, Saul," she said sadly. "Is it really so hard for you to believe that I have moved on? That I can't be manipulated by an arrogant motherfucker from my past? How fucking fickle do you think I am?"

"Carrie, I am desperate." He leaned forwards, eyes suddenly bright and beseeching as he rallied desperately. "I need you to work for me. I want us to be the team we once were. Remember when we were invincible. Remember what we achieved. We were so good and it can be that way again. Just the two of us, together."

Carrie glared at him as realisation sparked in her mind. "The fuck! You are jealous of Quinn!" Saul sagged back in his chair as she landed a killer punch, the accuracy of which surprised her as much as him. She let a humourless, slightly crazy giggle and then shook her head. "You are fucking unbelievable! You have no idea what you have done!"

Chankria cleared her throat. "Entertaining though this little scene is," she said. "Perhaps you would care to tell us exactly what you think he has done, Ms Mathison?"

Carrie nodded, opened her mouth to speak and her phone went again. Chankria let out an impatient snort. "Somebody obviously wants you pretty bad!" she scoffed, perfect eyebrows arched.

"Do you want to take that?" Saul added a relieved tone edging his voice as he saw a chance to suspend the questioning and allow himself time to recover, to plan his next move. He was staggering and on the ropes, it was true, but he was not finished yet.

Carrie glanced at her phone, thinking it would be Maggie again but the number that came up she recognised as Bakri's. Shit, she didn't need this. What the hell was he doing calling her now...unless he knew where she was and what she was about to do and he wanted to stop her. A cold hand of fear clutched at her innards as the quiet nagging voice of instinct finally made itself heard; Maggie knew she was at an important meeting, she had explained that when she rang to ask if Quinn could drop Franny off for the evening. Carrie realised that her sister would not have called unless something serious was wrong.

She nodded, muttered an abrupt apology and answered the phone as she moved to the back of the office. Chankria rolled her eyebrows once again and glanced at the clock before returning her attention to her nails. Saul found sudden interest in the papers on his desk but his hands were shaking as he moved the files around pointlessly. Neither acknowledged the other's existence.

"What the fuck do you want?" Carrie hissed into the phone.

"Is that any way to talk to an old friend?" Bakri chuckled down the line. "I'm just phoning to give you a little advice, Mathison, dear."

"Advice?"

"Yeah, just to say you're not the only one who can track phones, you know. I know where you are. So go ahead and have your little chat with Mr Berenson and Ms Chankria. Spill the beans if you wish but remember there is always a price to pay."

"What the fuck do you mean?"

"Sell me out and somebody very close to you will pay the price!"

The cold fear in her stomach slithered wildly as Carrie's heart beat quickened to a terrifying tattoo. "Who?"

Bakri chuckled. "Let's just say your black ops beau isn't as good as you think he is."

"Quinn?"

"I want twenty four hours to complete my business. After that you can tell anybody else you fucking want Mathison, but one second before that and I will put a bullet into your boyfriend's head and see if these black ops boys have a brain at all. Understand?" The line went dead.

"Wait!" Carrie screeched. She turned back to see both Saul and Chankria staring at her with wide questioning eyes. She pulled her glance away from them and it came to rest on the file she had left on the desk just minutes earlier.

She licked her lips as the maelstrom of confusion and indecision swirled in her mind. Her original plans blown to pieces.

* * *

Quinn awoke lying awkwardly on his back, shivering, with a cold sweat pooling in the pores of his skin. Everything felt wrong. He felt restrained and full enough to burst. Strange sensations ran along his nerves, contracting his muscles with intense pain and yet he felt vague and unfathomable. He tried to move his arms, his legs, his head, but nothing obeyed his command. His shoulders were straining and threatening to pop as his arms had been pulled back and tied behind his back which in turn made his current position even more uncomfortable.

His head hurt. In addition to his previous headache, now he had a vivid pain down the left side of his face where the skin felt strangely tight and sticky. He tried to open his eyes and while the right complied, the left remained swollen shut. On moving his attention to his mouth, he realised it was taped shut by a gag. His nose too felt wrong, out of place somehow, as the air rattled through it noisily. The memory of the pistol whipping that Bakri had given him once he was in the car; the swoosh of the gun passing his ear, the sharp agony as it hit and the welcoming blackness that engulfed him, fluttered vaguely into his mind and out again. He closed his eyes, pushed his head back to rest on the damp floor, swallowed back the nauseous feeling that inched up his throat and concentrating on simply breathing through his nose as his gag did not allow it through his mouth.

A few minutes later, and feeling slightly better, he tried opening his eyes again. His vision was slightly blurred and watery in his right and nonexistent in his left. He blinked trying to bring the watery scene before him into focus, his impaired vision not helped by the lack of light in the surroundings.

Slowly he inched his way to a sitting position, ignoring the hot rushes of pain that flashed through every muscle as he moved. Once sitting, he took deep breaths, waiting for the ache to recede a little and the nausea to fade. He gingerly moved his tied hands and noted with satisfaction that the binding was with old rope, not tight enough and he could move his hands within the bonds. His legs were not even tied at all. Fucking amateurs, he thought with a grimace. He began to twist his wrists together in order to loosen the rope still further.

At the same time, his eye adjusting to the dim light, he looked around. He appeared to be in some sort of wooden storeroom, dim and dusty and empty with a low ceiling that, along with the shadows that lingered malevolently in every corner, gave a sinister, claustrophobic feel. A glance from an untrained eye would believe it to be an ideal place to keep someone prisoner but Quinn, his relatively good eye squinting through the dull light to make a minute inspection of every little thing in the room, saw at least a handful of interesting possibilities that would aid him in his escape.

He tried to stand but a wave of dizziness washed through him. He sat down again, gulping in air, his head, suddenly feeling too heavy for his neck, slumped on to his left shoulder. He had to concede at this point, that this might be harder than he had thought. He had suffered concussion in the past and well recognised its symptoms now as he weakly lifted his head and retched feebly into his gag, the headache throbbing ominously behind his eyes.

He waited, trying to regain some strength, moving his head gingerly from his shoulder to rest on the clammy, cool wall, swallowing back the vile tasting stomach acid that had invaded his mouth as he gagged and inhaling as much air as he possibly could through his damaged nose. If he had felt bad before, now was much worse and his body craved the delicious numbness only painkilling drugs could deliver. As an overriding desire for sleep threatened to let the fingers of blackness, which lurked at the edge of his consciousness, engulf him entirely.

With a conscious effort, he pulled himself back to his predicament. He had a job to do. He had put himself here because this was where he needed to be. It was quite simple really. If he was here then the other people that he cared about were safe. He had put himself in harm's way to get into a position so he could ensure that the threat to them would be eliminated and they would be safe. He was not going to fail; it simply was not an option. He would suffer whatever it took, do whatever was needed and he would do so willingly because he was a soldier; it was what he did. And he needed to do it now regardless of the physical discomfort he felt.

He gulped and, deciding that walking was perhaps a little too ambitious at this point, he shuffled on his ass, very slowly across the filthy floor towards the door. During his earlier inspection, he had noted that one of the screws that held the door handle in place appeared to be loose. Once he arrived, and with great care, leaning heavily against the wall, he lifted himself to his feet. Turning his back to the door, his dexterous fingers made a thorough investigation of the screw and the area around it. Pursing his lips as he concentrated, he managed to loosen the screw further until it slipped out of the thread.

"Shit!" he swore inwardly as the screw slid through his suddenly clumsy fingers to be lost in the dark shades that lurked at ground level. He knelt, furtively running his bound hands along the floor, cursing that he had to do this behind his back, and finally found the touch of hard metal that marked where the screw had fallen. Grasping it firmly this time, he made his way on his ass once more back to the area he had woken up in. He lay down again, heat flushing through him as the dizziness and nausea returned and his breathing coming in shallow hoarse breaths. He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax and regain his strength while his hands got to work using the sharp point of the screw to separate and pare away the rope fibres that bound them.

Some time later, the door opened and a solitary shaft of chromium light split the dullness, instantly making Quinn's eyes water and his head throb a little more intensely. More light rushed in as strong hands grabbed hold of his aching shoulders, lifting him roughly. He was pulled on to his knees, his head pushed down to the floor. He bit back the groan as the enforced movement sent shivers of fracturing pain through his battered body. Fingers in his hair roughly pulled his head up until he looked straight down the barrel of a gun.

"How does it feel, black ops boy?" Bakri hissed, pressing the cold barrel to Quinn's forehead. "To be on the wrong side of the gun?" Bakri kept his mouth set in an evil sneer.

Quinn drew in a brave but ragged breath. He was shivering and strung out, every fibre in his body screeching in painful protest but he ignored them, concentrating his remaining strength on holding the other man's stare with all the devastating confidence and calm he could muster.

He knelt in the dust, silent and strong, the gun pressed to his head

...and he waited.


	11. Daughter of Pelias

**Daughter of Pelias**

Carrie drew in a long breath. She needed time to think, to compute everything that had just happened. Saul and Chankria were still looking at her expectantly but she knew after what had been said that she could tell them nothing, not now.

Dammit! If he was to be believed Bakri had Quinn! She didn't want to think how an IT geek had managed to take down a black ops agent; just the thought of it made her stomach squirm with disbelief. She had to sort this herself and she couldn't involve Saul or Chankria because if she did she may never see Quinn again.

She cleared her throat. "You know what, fuck this!" she growled. "I was wrong to come here and expect that we could ever sort this out. You're on borrowed time, Saul, since you came back you always fucking have been." She reached forward, took her file, and turned towards the door.

"Carrie," Saul's voice was angry. "You are behaving like a spoilt child!"

She stiffened but did not turn back, instead she ignored his annoyed whine and left the room, banging the door shut so loudly it caused all the glass of the windows to rattle scarily. Grabbing her phone as she walked out, she punched a number. "Virgil?" she said urgently as he answered. "Get me a trace on Bakri and Quinn's phones. Now, dammit! Phone me back in two minutes, I have to make more calls."

She hung up. Punched another number. Swore as Bakri's phone came back as unavailable. She needed proof that Bakri's threat was legitimate. So she tried a third number. "Maggie? What the fuck is happening?" She listened for awhile, interjecting a couple of times with, "Calm down." Then she asked, "And Franny is all right?" Further listening before, "Quinn said he got it covered, right? Those were his exact words?" She nodded at the response and then said, "OK are the police still there? Tell them as little as you can, I will come to you as soon as I can."

She hung up. Delaying her exit through the main doors, she paced the floor nervously before her phone rang. "What? Fuck Virgil! Nothing on either? Fuck! Bakri just called me! I thought you were supposed to be looking for him! Have you tried all of Quinn's numbers?"

As she hung up a voice came from behind her. "It seems like you have quite a situation going on. Would you care to share it with me?"

Carrie turned to see Suneeta Chankria standing regarding her intently. "It's nothing," she muttered.

Chankria snorted. "Clearly it is something and from what I have just heard it involves a member of my staff to whom I have a duty of care. Carrie, I will not throw any of my people under any buses, neither will I negotiate with terrorist scum, of that I can assure you. Let me help you with this."

Carrie regarded this stylish woman, wondering how far she could be trusted. As the adrenaline rushed through her, Carrie felt frighteningly alone but she had been so in the past, many times, and she had found a way through. She had complete confidence in her own abilities to get out of the predicament and get Quinn back but there was a bigger picture here that needed to be addressed too. She ran her hand through her hair, pushing her panic away. She needed time to think, to quieten the flustering noise reverberating around her head and focus on what was really important.

She gulped, scanning all the information she had in her mind. Maggie had told her that Quinn had gone willingly with his captors, even told her to pass the message on that he had it covered. What did he mean by that? She had seen him in action, knew how good he had been but now she feared his physical weakness compromised him, would he still be able to deliver as he once had? She wanted to have faith in him, the memory of that barb of Astrid's in Islamabad still hurt, but it was too big a risk, a gamble with his life that she was not prepared to take because, more than anything, recent events had shown her that nothing had changed; she simply couldn't lose him.

Chankria was still regarding her, her beautiful features softened with sympathy. "I think we both want the same thing, Carrie," she said. "We should be allies - two strong women together, we can do business. Trust me with this and let me prove my dependability to you."

Carrie knew of this woman's frightening reputation but as she listened to her own instincts, she was getting no alarm bell, no indication that she should not trust her. And what was the alternative? She nodded slowly. "Help me save Quinn," she said. "And then I'll give you enough intel to blow Saul's treacherous ass to hell." As she spoke she possessively squeezed the file in her hand.

Chankria smiled. "Black ops are at your service." She moved forward and laid a supportive arm on Carrie's shoulders. "And then we will talk about Saul and the possibility of patricide, figuratively speaking, of course."

* * *

Quinn felt incredibly calm.

Granted he would have preferred to have bought the farm at the hands of a fellow professional, rather than this ignorant amateur but in the scheme of things it did not really matter. He had achieved what he wanted; Franny was safe, Carrie would be putting her plan into action and Bakri's days were numbered. It felt sort of right that this was an appropriate time to check out.

But looking past the infinitely mesmerising dark void of the gun barrel in front of him and into Bakri's crazily blinking eyes, Quinn realised that it was not going to happen. For, although there was definitely frazzled madness there, there was not the iron will of a cold blooded killer. And with that realisation came a second startling insight for Quinn, it contradicted entirely his previous acceptance from only moments before; really he didn't want to die, not now. Now he had too much to live for, now he may even have a shot at the normal life he craved. Why would he give that up? And the most crucial question of all, why would he give Carrie up?

So he determined to stoically endure whatever Bakri had in mind for him while, behind his back, unhurriedly, his hands kept working the screw along the rope.

"No," Bakri said. "I won't kill you. Not yet." He pulled the gun away from Quinn's head.

Asshole, Quinn thought but kept his stare impassive. It was a difficult line to tread; to be confident enough to imperceptibly nurture the element of doubt in his captor but not to be too defiant to provoke Bakri to violence. Quinn realised he was pushing too hard when Bakri's whole body suddenly stiffened, his eyes flashed insane anger and he snarled, "Don't fucking judge me, you arrogant bastard!" The open handed slap that accompanied the sentiment rocked Quinn's head back and he tasted bitter blood trickling into his mouth.

Quinn bit back his frustration and looked down to the floor, disengaging, retreating from the conflict, making his whole demeanour as unthreatening as possible.

Bakri glared at the cool and submissive, lowered head in disgust and then moved away as the heat of his anger lost its focus and dissipated somewhat.

"She's out of your league, you know." he said, calmer but obviously still irritated. "We were so good together. I could have given her what she really needs. You? You're just sloppy seconds and she'll get bored of your shit soon enough."

Fuck! Quinn thought as his headache began to throb again, I really cannot cope with a talker and an unstable one at that. Why do weak men, under pressure, always seem to feel the need to vocalise their demons, even to their enemies? Why do they seek absolution and forgiveness, when they should take responsibility for their own fuck ups? Much more of this self indulgent crap and I'll be begging him to put the bullet in my brain! But despite himself and his pounding head, Quinn's training kicked in and he listened because through all of the self pity, Bakri may inadvertently reveal something that would be of use and help him in his escape.

"Jesus, how did it get to this?" Bakri was pacing the floor to the door and back again, silhouetted by the stark metallic light from the other room, the gun, still in his hand, wafting about in a hazardous fashion, he continued, "It's not my fault any of this! Mathison should have let it lie but then she was never any good at doing what I told her. If only she would have worked with me, not against me, we would have been quite a team."

He turned back to Quinn. "I never had a fucking chance. You will never understand what it's like to have no country, to be so dispossessed, so powerless. You who have had everything you ever wanted, I hate you, fucking American Dream boy. Where I grew up there was nothing but despair. Why wouldn't young boys listen to what the holy men say, be a suicide bomber with the promise of heaven and all those virgins on the other side? Oh I tried, tried to fit in, tried to be a good American when I got the chance but I fucking woke up one day, oh yes I did, and I suddenly realised I really didn't care anymore, not for any of it. The CIA were doing no good, no fucking good at all, only making things worse, everywhere. And I realised there is no point to any of it anyway because in the long term we are all dead. There is nothing else; heaven isn't waiting at the end, there are no virgins waiting for the blessed martyrs; they are just throwing their lives away! There is nothing else, only this fucked up world; you have to get everything you can before it's too late and if you don't get given you learn to take what you want."

The words were tumbling out now in a long anguished confession. Bakri's body was shivering with unstable, overheating energy, quivering like an animal before a storm. "Information is the only commodity of true value on this planet and I have exploited it. I have done nothing wrong, I have simply taken it and sold it to whoever will pay the most money. I have done nothing with it myself, committed no evil. I am innocent." His eyes flashed frantically in the silver-grey light and, despite his protestations, Quinn looked up to see guilt written large across his features. Bakri blindly continued on. "I have no allegiances, no commitments except to myself and what I can get. It's been a truly glorious and uplifting experience to be released from the ties of morality, to be completely consumed by satiating my own needs."

He moved back to stand in front of Quinn, who was still on his knees and trying to remain as static as possible although he swayed slightly as he fought to retain his attentiveness. "And of course, you are to blame for some of this. You and your team pulled me out of Mogadishu, allowed me to continue. You could have stopped me!" He shook his head fanatically. "I will not be beholden to anybody."

Quinn regarded him emotionlessly, wondering where this rambling declaration was leading and whether Bakri would ultimately find the courage to kill him at the end of it. He doubted it but he could not be sure, not with somebody as pathetically unhinged as Bakri.

It was time to move. Quinn had managed to fray the binding rope enough so that pulling his hands apart finally snapped it. Like a spring held taunt for too long and suddenly released, he launched forward towards Bakri, ignoring the rush of dizziness that the fast movement brought and concentrating instead on landing a heavy punch on the side of the other man's head. Bakri let out a surprised squeak and went down heavily, unconscious before he hit the floor.

Quinn stood over him, muscles shuddering as he removed the sticky gag from his mouth, ignoring the sharp pain and ripping sensation it brought down the side of his face as he breathed in deeply. "You talk too much, asshole," he spat bleakly. "And I've got a fucking headache."

He bent down and picked up the rope and proceeded to hog-tie Bakri in a much more robust fashion than had been done to him. Picking up the gun, he shambled to the wall and leaned against it, tried to swallow back nausea but he lost the fight and vomited violently and noisily. "Fuck, I can't do this any more," he muttered. He was shaking uncontrollably again, his whole body on the brink of closing down but he would not allow it, not yet, he had to get out first.

He staggered into the next room. It was bigger and lit by a whole row of startling fluorescent lights that burned on to the retina of his good eye causing it to water and the scene to jolt and blur alarmingly. He blinked and the picture settled enough for him to decipher he was in a room that was similar to Carrie's operational control room with its stark VC screens. There was only one person present and from his position in the nearest chair, he turned towards Quinn. Joaquín let out a gasp of surprise at the bloodied and battered apparition that had suddenly appeared behind him.

Quinn raised his gun shakily. "You got a choice," he said voice croaking dryly. "Run away and don't...the fuck!" He stopped when he realised that the scene he was seeing on the VC screens was indeed Carrie's control room. He could clearly see the back of Virgil's balding head as he watched the monitor in front of him. "You been watching us all the time?" he demanded.

Joaquín nodded and was not able to suppress the lecherous leer that creased his face. A rush of indignant rage surged uncontrollably through Quinn, he felt violated and abused to know that this smirking bastard had watched everything he and Carrie had done the night before. The exhaustion and pain that riddled his body were chased away by livid anger. Giving into the impulse without further thought, he punched Joaquin's sneering face with all of his remaining strength and took great delight in watching the insensible body fall, head cracking hard on the concrete floor.

Quinn leaned on the desk, breathing heavily for long moments, trying to quell the spasms that shook through his body and then he grabbed the nearby phone, dialled a number with a shaky hand and watched on the screen as Virgil picked it up.

"Trace this call," he said jadedly. "I don't know where the fuck I am!"

"Peter?" Virgil's voice was worried. "Are you OK?"

Quinn didn't hear the other man's concern. In fact he didn't hear anything. He had finally run out of determination and energy, surrendering to the alluring appeal of the black concussion that had lingered at the edge of his mind for so long. Now the immediate danger was passed, he was unable to struggle against it any more, he was powerless as it crept forward unopposed into his conscious mind, and stole away his awareness.

As it took control every muscle in his body lost its strength; the life leaving his features as the flame of a candle flickers and is gone. The breath eased out of his lungs in a long sigh, the phone dropped from his hand, he slumped forward and gracefully slid down the desk to come to elegant rest on the cold floor, his body still as the grave.

Oblivion claimed him.


	12. Beyond Demons

**WARNING: Signing off with some explicit stuff because this world needs more C+Q Smut! Cheers!**

**Beyond Demons**

Carrie shielded her eyes from the bright spring sunshine as she looked out of her office window at Langley. She watched, intrigued by the sight of a stooped, elderly man with unkempt grey hair carrying a small box of belongings towards the parking lot. He looked defeated, lost and alone in a big world that rushed past him and failed to take note. All save Carrie, who watched and felt nothing, nothing for the years they had worked together, nothing for the things he had taught her and nothing for her part in his ultimate downfall. She was full to bursting of nothing.

She drew in a deep breath. "You fucking brought it on yourself, Saul," she muttered. "You fucked me over too many times, I couldn't let it lie."

A knock and the door opened and Suneeta Chankria entered, garbed in the most perfect powder blue skirt suit, sapphires to match her eyes twinkling at her ears and neck, but not quite as dazzling as her brilliant smile. "Berensen has left the building," she beamed.

Carrie nodded. "I know, I watched him." She sighed deeply. "And this time he's not coming back."

"Never." Chankria's smile turned serious. "To fail in complex, high risk operations abroad is one thing but to invite a traitor to work with you for dubious reasons, to give him access to all the information he wants and to not have a clue it is even happening, that is unforgivable. He took his eye off the ball big time to get you back; he's a broken man, Carrie. He'll never work again. He's lucky he didn't end up in jail on a treason charge like Samir Bakri and his friends."

"And what about you?"

Chankria's smile widened again. "Interim Director," she said proudly. "And all thanks to you, Carrie."

"Congratulations." Carrie glanced away, back to the window, Saul had disappeared. Gone forever. It was quite unbelievable but true and she had to move on. "So why did you want to talk to me?" she asked turning back to business.

"I owe you big time and I don't forget my debts. Name it and it's yours, Carrie." Carrie rolled her eyes and let her breath blow out through her mouth as Chankria continued, "I meant what I said, two strong women together, we can move mountains, we can change this pathetic dinosaur of an organisation into one fit for the twenty first century. I think we could do great things together. There is something marvellous about to happen, can you feel it?"

Carrie smiled sadly. "You know, I think I've chased and slain enough demons to last a lifetime. I think, maybe it's time to try something a little more... normal."

Chankria's eyebrows arched. "You will never cope with a normal life."

"Maybe not. But I owe it to Franny and I owe it to Quinn to try."

The interim Director nodded. "How is Peter doing?"

The flash of the memory hit Carrie; as she entered Bakri's hideaway with Rob and the rest of the group at her heels, to see Quinn's battered and inert body on the floor. The devastating frosted fear that had claimed hold of her heart and frozen it to sheer ice when she thought he was dead. And the warm, fuzzy feeling that had overwhelmed her and brought unashamed tears stinging to her eyes, when he had groaned and tried to rouse himself as she bent to gather him in her arms.

Carrie pushed the memory away and nodded. "Good. Out of hospital. His ability to heal is completely astounding doctors everywhere, again. It's just a pity he keeps getting himself into those situations in the first place!" Carrie's tone was a little too fractious she knew but she was still blaming herself for getting Quinn into such a dangerous position again.

"He's a brave and decent man, a little foul mouthed and unkempt for my tastes but even I can detect he has a certain enigmatic charm, although a proper shave every day wouldn't go amiss!" Chankria smiled and then grew serious again. "I don't want to lose either of you and I am sure we can come up with a mutually acceptable solution to this."

"Maybe. But, you know, I think we're just gonna take off for a bit, go on a crazy road trip like my father used to do. See this country that we've given so fucking much of ourselves to save."

Chankria nodded. "Sounds good and you deserve it. I hope you make a go of it for both of you and for Franny too. Don't forget this place isn't going to go away. If ever you want to come back, the invitation stands, just ring me."

"Thanks, I appreciate that although, and I can speak for Quinn on this," Carrie's stomach gave an odd flutter of appreciation at being able to say such a thing. "I think it will be a long time before either of us darkens your doors again."

"Never say never!" Chankria's triumphant smile was wide and seemed to linger, like the Cheshire cat's, long after she had left the room.

Carrie sighed again, took one last look out of the window to see that life still went on in the CIA regardless and began the long job of clearing out her office. Packing up all of the accumulated wreckage from her career, she was determined to leave no trace.

* * *

The weather had changed; a storm to match the turmoil reverberating around the CIA senior management team had rolled in. The days of endless blue skies and warm spring sunshine, now only a fuzzy memory, had been blown away by an unseasonal bitter north wind which brought icy cold rain sheeting down in an insistent, never-ending tattoo. The wind destroyed the beautiful cherry trees bordering the streets which had been tricked into blooming prematurely by the previously balmy weather. The gusts howled in manic fury as they scattered the snowy blossom into a pinkish white, ever changing, carpet that swirled around the driveways and gardens, only to be blown eventually into the fast flowing sewer streams and carried away with all the other debris to be lost forever down the dark drains.

A branch from an overhanging tree tapped aggressively at a window as it danced powerless to do anything but submit to the masterful wind. Carrie shivered involuntarily as she returned from checking on Franny, who appeared to be able to sleep through just about anything, much to Carrie's relief and surprise. On stormy nights like this one, Carrie was thankful to be able to shut out the world entirely and relax in a warm, dry and safe house.

She stopped at the bedroom doorway, her mouth curling in an amazed smile at the transformation that had taken place in just the few short minutes she had been away.

The room was now lit by only a few well placed cosy candles creating a warm golden glow and the mesmerising scent of smoky incense drifted on the air. He stood in the shadows and stared at her, drinking her in, his bright eyes shining pinpoints of thirsty need, the dark pupils so wide with yearning. She moved into the surreal scene, her heart quickening in expectation as she stopped next to the bed, just out of his reach. They were still, silent, simply regarding each other; in each stare a lifetime of wanting, a moment of anticipation, feeding energy, rare and pure, to the electricity that sparked between them.

Her mouth dried rapidly and her bowels clenched as she watched him purposefully undo the buttons of his shirt, rip it off and let it drop. She rolled her eyes suggestively as he hitched his jeans over his hips and down to the floor. Her tongue was too large for her mouth, and developed a will of its own, escaping to run seductively around her lips as she had difficulty in swallowing down through her parched throat. His sizzling eyes never left hers as he kicked off shoes, socks, and jeans, dropped his boxers to stand in front of her, naked, shivering with potency, his member swelling and standing up proudly before her. She smiled invitingly, ravaged by the heat of need and desire, and the strengthening flames of passion.

With the silky, confident grace of a hunting panther, Quinn moved to stand behind her. She moaned softly as he bent his head and his lips touched her expectant skin at the nape of her tingling neck. He hungrily kissed his way downwards. As he licked, his warm hands gently slid her dress from her shoulders, his mouth pressing soft kisses down her back, sending little flashes of heat along her spine as he moved lower. When he reached her ass, Quinn let the dress drop to the floor, pulled down her lacy briefs and ran his tongue along Carrie's crack, causing her to jerk forward. Her legs were suddenly weak and she tottered. He moved quickly to stand in front of her and hold her in his strong arms, bending his head to suckle at her small nipples, teasing each rosy bud into his mouth and she whimpered quietly.

With the greatest of care he pushed her away from her clothes, back, to sit on the bed.

He sat down beside her, bent and slipped her feet from her shoes and then rolled down her stockings and threw them away. He stroked her face, his fingers sliding tenderly along her cheek as she flung her head back and simply luxuriated in the fire of his touch.

He stopped.

"Carrie, look at me." She did. Her eyes were wild with hot anxious excitement, cooling slightly as she saw the sudden doubt in his. "If you don't want this," he began earnestly, hesitated. "It is up to you. But," he leaned down and kissed her again. "I would like for you to let me stay."

She leaned back, regarding him, seeing beyond the fading bruise and healing scar on the left side of his face from his latest exploits, concentrating instead on what endured beneath; his startling, sharp, blue eyes, the chisel of his cheekbones, the bristly chin and the muscle pulsing nervously at his jaw. Wonder flashed through her - how could she have spent so much time with him and never seen the acuity of his quality? The image of the smooth featureless statue he had been on that night when his demons had taken him flashed through her memory. She pushed it away, banishing it from her mind, to contemplate what was before her: Peter Quinn, in all of his jagged, imperfect glory. Before her, this night, he was made new and vital and beautiful.

She could ignore it no longer. Finally she acknowledged to herself he was exactly what she wanted.

She whispered breathlessly, "You know I want this time as much as you."

He nodded, his face creasing into a spiky, incisive smile as he pushed her back and then lay down beside her on the bed. As he held her and pressed his mouth to hers, his gentle hands began to stroke down her back, making soothing circles on her hot skin. Carrie felt as though she were melting, being consumed by an unknown, raging fire that had suddenly sprung up inside her.

His hands moved to her breasts as he kissed his way down her body, now sheened with a light coating of sweat like his own, bending to run his expressive tongue along Carrie's belly and then, moving lower, he began to lap gently at her most intimate opening. She moaned in delight and opened her legs wider, trembling with excitement as Quinn licked the juices now soaking the hair between her legs. His skilful tongue slid across her throbbing nub and inside her and she shivered and whimpered with bliss. She sobbed with the joy of it, reached out to grasp the hands at her breasts and hold them close. She cried out and jerked as she felt the burning, wriggling tongue plunging in and out as her nipples were pinched with enthusiasm. Without thinking she spread her legs even wider giving herself to him in every way.

Grinning at her reaction, Quinn withdrew his tongue and slowly slid two fingers into her opening, revelling in the tightness he found there, and then began teasing her clitoris with his tongue. His rhythm was bold and he kept licking and finger fucking her until within minutes Carrie was coming, riding her orgasm with a scream of delight. Her cunt was drenched with fluid as she collapsed into the mattress, shuddering gently.

Quinn rose up to lie beside her, his smile broad and confident, his mouth finding her nipple and drawing it in with his tongue, caressing it. He felt her arch against him, her hands wrap themselves in his hair and urgently pull him closer. As he kissed her the rush of desire that had been building in his loins grew until it filled him, setting every nerve on edge, fixing his thoughts on one goal - to slide his throbbing shaft into her heat. He closed his eyes as his senses struggled, engulfed by her musky scent, the taste of her secret juices so sweet on his tongue, her visceral moaning, and the touch of her silky skin as she urged him onward. He could do nothing but obey.

With a groan he found her ready and dripping and he took her, thrusting quickly, feeling her legs wrap around him as she arched up, asking for more. Gladly he slammed into her, feeling the tight flesh around his cock quiver as Carrie's muscles gripped him. "Yes!" she hissed, whipping her head from side to side, eyes tightly shut, her blonde hair flailing across her face as she reached up and plucked at his nipples, the motion sending shocks across him and tightening his balls.

Amazingly Quinn's shaft grew even harder and he pumped into her welcoming body feverishly, raining kisses down on her face and throat, bending his back awkwardly so that he could suckle at her neck while he rammed his cock into her. In response Carrie tightened her legs around him and dug her heels into his ass, scratching her nails up his back to send a dazzling white light of mixed pain and pleasure along his already sizzling nerves and Quinn gave a smothered groan of triumph and excitement as the orgasm crashed through him. The room was spinning as he exploded within her and she met him, her muscles clenching around him as he pumped inside her.

"Carrie!" he moaned, collapsing against her when he was done.

Giggling, Carrie pushed him onto his back and began to lick his chest, suckling gently at his nipples, causing him to jerk as his nerves protested. "Wait," he moaned. "Give me a moment."

"I want you," whispered Carrie, her eyes dark with lust. "I want to fuck you forever!"

Her words set Quinn's cock upward once more and he pulled her down, pushing her mouth open with his tongue and letting it entwine around hers. She whimpered and pressed herself against him. "Fuck me, Quinn." She hissed as one hand plucked at his nipples, the other pulled at his hair. "Do it again!"

Quinn lifted her, settling her onto his barely recovered rigid shaft, and felt her begin to rotate subtly, grinding herself down on him, rubbing his balls with her hand. A teasing finger worked its way behind him to stroke hesitantly across his anus and he gasped in appreciation, lifted his hips slightly to allow access and felt a fingertip slip inside. The sensation was like bolts of colourful lightning slamming through him and his hands around Carrie's hips tightened, his cock swelled further as he began to move in and out of her to match the movement of the questing finger in his ass.

Carrie threw back her head and moaned her approval at his movement and then began to squirm in delight. Quinn's arousal reached a terrifying crescendo, the stimulation from the different points bombarding him with so many sensations his brain could not process them all. Surrendering his logic and conscious thought, Quinn gave himself up to complete physical pleasure, drowning in the feelings that now defined him. With a groan he felt another orgasm building, growing and then his seed shooting from him in wave after wave, a release of such magnitude he was pummelled and beaten and pounded by it as it rushed through his body. His muscles spasmed and shook and his vision dimmed as he was overwhelmed by the physical climax. Carrie gave a shriek of delight and Quinn could feel her clamping around his shaft, the tight grip squeezing him so hard he grunted in appreciation as she bucked and ground her clitoris against him until her breathing went ragged and she screamed in rapture.

He moaned and lay back, exhausted but satisfied in a way he had not felt before. Carrie collapsed to lie draped across his chest, breathing heavily, her pale porcelain skin so beautiful in the candle light, he could not resist the urge to lift his drowsy hand and stroke her adoringly.

They lay together in expended silence in the afterglow of the love they had made, bathed in blessed fulfilment neither willing to break the breathtaking spell of the magic they had created together.

"It doesn't matter," he said finally, taking hold of her limp hand and caressing it.

She raised her head slightly. "What?"

He sighed. "That I can't do it any more. I needed to learn it and now I know." He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed along her fingers.

She smiled, slithering up his sweaty body, until they were at the same height, their mouths tantalisingly close and she was looking deep into his eyes. "You can do everything that I need you to do, Quinn and," she pouted provocatively. "You can fucking do it with style!"

He grinned. "I guess that's enough."

"Hell yeah!" she replied and then she kissed him, long and hard.

Outside, the demons and their storms continued to rage, but within the safe haven of the bedroom, two damaged souls had found, at least for this night, a healing and a peace that they had both chased for so long.

* * *

Twelve weeks later, and many months before Thanksgiving, sour-faced Susan won her money in the HR Department sweepstake for her prediction about Carrie Mathison and Peter Quinn!

The end


End file.
